


Not Quite Dark Magic

by hiccupfound



Series: NQDM Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Double Agent Draco, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, HEA, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Occlumency, SOUL binds, Slow Burn, Sort of? - Freeform, War, there is Hermione with other people throughout the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 107,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiccupfound/pseuds/hiccupfound
Summary: Five years into to the war, the Order is pulling ahead after ages of drastically losing. Draco Malfoy notices. He wants in. He offers himself as a double agent, but the Order requests more. They've created a new spell that binds two people's magical cores together in order to make a nearly unbeatable pair of duelists.Draco agrees to bind himself to the person most compatible with his magical core. Even if it is Hermione Granger.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: NQDM Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725760
Comments: 723
Kudos: 1275
Collections: The Dramione Collection, Top Tier Harry Potter Fiction





	1. Constant

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello, welcome to my first Dramione fic! I've been working on this project for about two months now and I'm currently writing chapter 16. I'd really like to start a weekly update, but this chapter is a bit confusing because a lot of the explanations explaining the actual bind don't come until chapter two, so I'll probably be posting that tomorrow or the next day.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy!  
> I'm awful at replying to comments, but that's just because I'm horribly awkward and don't know what to say, but I always appreciate them!

Hermione stormed through the door to the meeting room and tossed a thick envelope onto the table, skewing the papers underneath. Moody, the lone occupant of the room, looked up at her with slight indignation. She merely raised her eyebrows before he sighed and reached for it. That was one of the few advantages of this seemingly endless war. There was hardly a need for words when they knew each other well enough that a shake of the head or a furrow of brows could tell them all they needed to know. It was quicker, and in times like these speed was of the utmost importance. Some days it seemed speaking wasn’t necessary at all.

She waited patiently for him to read the letter through twice. That was the thing about Moody, given no strict time restraints he liked to be thorough. Which meant he needed to go through everything more than once. So to occupy her time, she perused through the papers on the table she did not recognize. Free time was not a luxury anymore. She couldn’t waste any second sitting there and waiting. There was always something to be done.

“Well?” she asked without looking up from the strategy document. She knew by his shifting that he was ready to discuss.

“Another Death Eater spy could come in handy. Snape has always been reliable, but who knows what else we could learn, especially since we know this one sees the frontlines of battle frequently.”

“It’s a lead worth looking into, at least.” she agreed, flipping the page. “But what if it’s a trap?”

Silence. She knew better than to repeat herself.

“Always a risk, but a risk worth taking at this point. I assume you agree, or else the letter would never have made it to the table.”

Finished reading through the document, she picked up a quill and began to make her edits. Ron was an amazing strategist, but sometimes he had difficulty working with their new battle set up. It was something they would need to discuss at the meeting tomorrow.

“You want to go.” It wasn’t a question. Maybe they knew each other too well.

“Considering the Death Eater, I am clearly the best option.” She laid the quill down, folding her arms across her chest as she looked to his eyes.

Moody shook his head. “You are unbinded.”

“As are you.”

“As someone who was never bound, my strength has been unaffected. Unlike you, who has recently lost their partner to the killing curse and is therefore weaker than she was before the binding.”

Hermione took a slow breath in order to reel in her anger. If she wanted to do this then she needed to keep a level head. 

“I am one of the Order’s strongest duelists.”

“You were, and then your partner died and now you are asking to be put into a dangerous position knowing you are vulnerable.”

“Perhaps you’d rather send Ron,” she snapped. “Or maybe Pansy? I’m sure he wouldn’t think that was a trap.”

“You know very well how important it is that we keep the Slytherin members protected and out of risk as much as possible.” Moody stood then, hands on the table.

“Exactly my point. And seeing as Harry is too valuable, that puts his partner out as well. Who’s left now that you think could salvage this chance?”

Moody merely shook his head. “We’ll bring this to the meeting tomorrow.”

Hermione let out a huff of breath and stood, heading towards the door. She knew a dismissal when she heard it, and she was taking the tabling of this discussion as a win.

\---

“Malfoy wants to become a double agent?” Ron’s voice climbed an octave with each word.

“It seems legitimate, he even sent us a slew of useful information to show he was serious,” Hermione tossed the envelope over to the lead strategist. “Snape was even able to verify it all.” She then turned to answer the onslaught of questions she knew would be coming.

“What if it’s a trap?” Harry asked, fiddling with his glasses nervously. 

“Then we plan accordingly,” she answered, looking towards Ron, who was already in deep discussion with Kingsley and Moody about which disenchantments would work best.

“He wants to meet one on one with a high up Order member,” Hermione continued on, knowing Ron would be listening in as he planned. “Which means that anyone in this house would do. Clearly, Theo and Pansy are out, as they are thought to be dead and we can’t put them at risk for this. Harry and Luna are out for the obvious. Any Weasley would be a poor choice due to their history.” 

“So who does that leave?” Ginny sat beside Harry, a protective hand on his shoulder.

“I’d like to volunteer myself.” Logically, she was the best person for this task. She knew how hard she needed to work to convince her best friend of that though. 

“Hermione, you can’t.” Harry looked her in the eyes for the first time since Hannah died. Honestly, you’d think it was his partner who had perished, the way he’d been acting. But Luna sat there beside him, largely unscathed from the previous battle. Hermione tried not to feel bitter.

“Harry, I understand where all objections are coming from, really I do. But I’ve thought this through since receiving the letter yesterday, and I can’t think of anyone else that would be better suited.”

“We need to bind you first—” he began, but Hermione shook her head.

“I will not take anyone that I am less compatible with than Hannah.” 

Part of her knew she was being stubborn. Hannah Abott and herself had a decent compatibility, and she had been excited to use the spell she had spent the past three years developing with the help of Luna, Harry and Snape. Nothing had prepared her, however, for the feel of actually being binded. Her magic felt whole, even though she’d never felt like anything had been missing in the first place. Their first battle together, Hermione could practically feel it sizzling beneath her skin. Never had she felt such power, never had she been so sure in the field. It was euphoric. 

She tried not to remember what her death had felt like.

“If we have our A team behind me, at least at first, then there should be no reason to worry.” Hermione felt adamant about this. She knew this was her mission to take on.

Ginny tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “And what about when Malfoy asks for a smaller audience?”

Damn Ginny. She was too smart for her own good.

“I am prepared for the consequences of that. If he kills me, then at least I am unbinded.” True, this meant she wasn't as strong, but it also meant the Order was losing a weaker link than if they sent someone who was bound.

“And if he chooses to try and capture you?” Ginny asked, chin in the air.

“I am a skilled Occlumens and have been captured and Crucio’d enough to know they will never get anything out of me.”

To this, there was only a silent nod of heads. As a Muggleborn, Dean and herself had seemed to be the focus of all Death Eater captures. This made them skilled in the art of torture and escape. Eventually, after the first few times, they became experienced enough fighters to evade. 

She rubbed her index finger over the scar Bellatrix had gifted her with all those nights ago in Malfoy Manor. She refused to glamour it; refused to hide it under long sleeves. To her, it was a reminder and every glance at it only strengthened her resolve that the war could only end in one manner. After all, it wasn’t the only word she had carved on her. 

“Hermione’s right,” Fred eventually broke the silence. “If Malfoy were to see any of us there, he would probably flee on sight.”

“All in favor of Hermione Granger meeting with the Death Eater turned spy?” Kingsley spoke for the first time, more apt to watch than voice his opinion unless he found it necessary.

There was a flourish as wands raised in the air and people cast their votes, after a moment a bright light shifted to form the words yes. Hermione smiled.

“The meeting is later this evening.” she said, clearing the table to make room for new parchment. “We need to make a plan.”

\---

Hermione stood by what she could only assume was an abandoned cabin in the woods. It looked like at one point it had been nice, but years of no one living in it had allowed it to fall into disarray.

She didn’t need to look behind and to her right to know there was a group of her friends disenchanted, holding their wands at the ready, even though she hadn’t heard them apparate in. Something about the war made her keenly aware of other people’s presence, even if there was no reason she should know.

For this reason, she knew Malfoy would know as well.

A small pop behind and to her left sent goosebumps up her arms and she knew it was him. Order members didn’t give off such a foreboding presence. Only Dark Magic would do that. She refused to turn around and meet him halfway.

She wouldn’t be intimidated.

“Merlin, can you send the press away? If I wanted to Avada you, then I would have done that on the Hogsmeade battle a few weeks ago.”

She still refused to turn, but she made a sharp gesture with her head. She felt the presence of her safety net vanish and she relaxed a bit. Without an audience she really felt like she could work this through.

“Malfoy.”

“Granger.” 

His words were clipped, but they didn’t seem to hold the malice they had back in their Hogwarts years. 

Neither moved for a moment, but eventually Malfoy sighed and she heard crunching leaves under his shoes as he walked towards her.

“Always a pissing contest with you Gryffindors, isn’t it?” he bit, walking past her to stand by the stairs of the cabin. 

She refused the bait. “What can you offer the Order?”

He rounded on her, a few feet away. He was taller than she remembered. Much older than she felt a 21 year old should look, though she knew the same could be said for most of the Order members. 

“A spy. Clearly you need one, if the way the tides have been the past few years are any indication.” He crossed his arms and smirked. 

He was confident. Or so, he wanted her to believe. She so badly wanted to snap at him and crack his fragile exterior, but something told her it wouldn’t be as easy to do as it was in their schooldays. 

“While an informant could be beneficial, it’s not what we solely desire.”

Malfoy barked out a laugh. “You think you’re in a position to bargain?”

“Tell me, Malfoy, how many Death Eaters were lost in the last battle?”

His smirk dropped into an unreadable mask. She itched to see a sneer, to know she’d gotten through and made him mad, but this would have to do for now. 

“Why would you choose now to switch sides?” The answer was obvious, but she needed him to know that she was the one with the power here. 

Still, he remained silent.

Hermione let a devilish smile cross her face. “Then I think we are in agreement that I, as one of the Leaders of the Order, have the power to set our terms.”

His face scrunched into one of disgust. “You can pretend all you want, but we both know how desperate you are for the information I have as a high up Death Eater.”

It seemed that he was unaware of Snape’s loyalties and she thanked the gods for that, but she couldn’t deny that he had a point there. Malfoy had been steadily climbing ranks and, as Severus had now found himself as an important brewer and caster for Voldemort, he no longer saw the frontlines like Malfoy did. Between the two of them, they would almost be able to fully put together Voldemort’s plans.

“But you’re more desperate for your life.”

Hermione, over the years, had learned the art of manipulation. Pretending to be weak had gotten her out of many captures. Acting scared and confused had allowed her to best more than one Death Eater. She quickly vowed to make this one of her skills. 

Draco however, was a master himself.

“And you’d give up yours in order to save the rest of the world.”

Yes, yes she would. But they were getting off task.

“We need fighters. I assume you’re not shite at dueling?”

He scoffed. “Would you like a demonstration?”

She would, but now was not the time.

“You will continue with your Death Eater duties,” she listed, beginning to circle him slowly. “You will report to us any information.” She paused and glared. “Any.” 

He gave a roll of his eyes but nodded anyways.

“In addition, you will come train with us in our hybrid program to prepare for the next battle, which you will be fighting with the Order on.”

“You’ve gone mad, have you?” Malfoy’s voice had raised and Hermione fought the urge to flinch. She had checked and this place was properly warded. No one would be able to find them.

“We’ve seen what you can do, and your ability to climb past Death Eaters who have been loyal since before you were born merely testifies to it. We need firepower like that.” 

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair. “And how do you suggest we accomplish any of this? Once I fight with the Order, the others will see it and I won’t be able to go back. You’ll have lost your spy.”

Hermione released a breath and prayed he couldn’t see the shaking of her hands.

“The next battle will be the last.” She tried to meet his eyes, but they were glued to his boots. She continued on. 

“We’ll need to draw up a schedule. You’ll need to come to our location, where you’ll make an Unbreakable Vow and learn more about what our program has in store. We can discuss the rest afterwards.”

Malfoy’s brow furrowed. “Why can’t we talk about it now?”

Hermione knew he would ask that, and also knew he would be resistant to come with her without any additional information. Unfortunately, this is what the council had agreed was the extent they could mention without the Unbreakable Vow being set into place. Snape had confirmed last week that Voldemort remained ignorant to their experiment. The longer that remained true, the more of a chance they had of winning. If Malfoy refused to come, then at least she hadn’t given anything vital.

“It’s top secret. You will get nothing more from me unless you agree to apparate with me and make the Vow.”

“What if I get there and decide I don’t want to do it?”

She shrugged. “Then we’ll kill you.”

“Some light side you are,” Malfoy muttered.

She could feel her cheeks tinging with pink as her anger flared.

“This is war, Malfoy. Do you expect us to spare you simply because we’re fighting for the Light?”

He sneered. “You can walk around with the facade of being a war lord all you want, Granger.” He walked forward until he was just a few inches away. Hermione refused to step back. “But we both know this fight will kill you emotionally, even if your body still breathes.”

She wouldn’t react. Not now. He didn’t even know the half of it. “Are you coming, or not?”

He paused, before grabbing onto her outstretched arm. “Not like you’re giving me much of a choice.”

She apparated before he could change his mind.

\---  
They appeared right inside the door of Grimmauld Place. At first the Order wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to bring Malfoy to headquarters, but after a bit of back and forth they agreed that if they felt any suspicions, they would merely not allow him to leave. Now that he was here, he was under their mercy.

Malfoy stayed silent as they climbed never ending stairs, up until they reached the rooftop, which seemed to expand far beyond the actual set of apartments. It was enchanted to be large enough to simulate battle.

Hermione glanced around until she found Harry and Luna fighting against Lavender and Bill, spells and shields flying faster than was visible to the eye. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Draco’s eyebrows raised. She bit back a smirk.

“Harry,” she called out their approach, lest a rogue spell come at them.

Harry stopped casting, which caught Luna’s attention and they both waved on approach. Hermione smiled at the synchronicity of the movements.

The two bid goodbye to the other bound pair and stopped to onceover Malfoy.

“You look tired,” Luna noted at Malfoy. Hermione shook her head, never quite aware of her awkwardness until there were new people around.

He nodded once in her direction. “Lovegood.” He looked at Harry. “Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry nodded back. 

Hermione looked between the pair. “We’ll need to do the vow now, if possible. I need to get back down.”

Harry nodded and pulled out his wand as Hermione extended her hand. Malfoy hesitated.

“You won’t be babysitting me?”

Hermione shook her head. “Harry and Luna are more than capable of taking it from here.” She offered no more information, and it seemed he knew better than to ask.

His large palm encompassed hers, but Hermione stood straight and listened as the man she had thought of as an enemy swore to protect the Order, to never give away their secrets and to always fight to take down Voldemort and Death Eaters alike.

When it was over, her palm was tingling and she fought the urge to wipe it on her jumper. She glanced again at Harry and Luna, who seemed to be silently communicating. Feeling eyes on them, they looked over. She raised her eyebrow, and they both shot her a thumbs up. She nodded and left without another word.


	2. Barmy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's chapter 2!   
> Also, I've decided that as long as I stay at least ten chapters ahead of where I currently am, I'm going to continue to post chapters as they pop out. Expect at least a weekly update, if not more!

Draco watched the odd pair in front of him lead him to a closed off section of the roof. He couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering between the two. Their relationship was close, he could tell that almost immediately. Back in their Hogwarts days, he always assumed the Weaslette and Potter would stay together, suffering through the war in each other’s skinny arms. He rolled his eyes. 

Potter summoned three chairs for them to settle in before he began speaking.

“Now that you’re an official member of the Order— thanks for that intel, by the way—“ he waved his hand awkwardly, “we have a new kind of induction you’ll need to partake in.” He fumbled in his muggle jeans, pulling out his wand and aiming it at Draco’s head. 

He leaned backwards in the chair. “Granger did mention something of the sort, but if you bloody think I’ll let you go near me without any explanations, you’ve gone even more mad than I thought.”

Potter sighed, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “Members of the Order, including myself, Luna and Hermione, spent the past few years working on a spell.”

Draco stayed still, biting his tongue lest he say anything inappropriate, like snapping at Potter to hurry up with the theatrical story.

“It was something that hadn’t been done before, at least not that Hermione had seen.” He reached for his wand, but this time pointed it at the blonde sitting next to him. Draco watched as he cast what seemed to be a diagnostic, but the readings consisted of combinations of words, letters and numbers he’d never seen before.

“Every witch or wizard has their own magical core, much like the wands we possess,” he explained, eyes moving slowly over the gibberish. “We learned that a person’s magical core will make them more inclined to certain types of magic. Though there are dozens of types of cores we were able to consolidate them into four main ones which we’ve decided to name: Battle, Brain, Defense and Strategy.” He paused, waiting for Draco to react.

“This is the strategy you believe will win the war?” It looked like a load of nonsense to Draco. Any faith he had in the Order promptly disappeared. These people were barmy. 

Potter sighed and shifted in his seat, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Right, let me break it down for you. Battle are those with cores that are quick thinking and run on adrenaline. Typically, those will be our first on the front lines.

“Brain are those behind the scenes, conjuring up new spells and potions, and that also includes our healers. Like I said, the categories are broad.” He shrugged.

“Defense are those best suited to long distance battle. They are positioned further back because, overall they might need more time to think, but the spells they cast are more powerful and therefore carry a further distance and do more damage than the frontline people.” He stopped again, looking to Lovegood. They didn’t speak a word, but Draco knew they were talking. Though it wasn’t like the normal types of silent communication. There was no lifting of the brows or shaking of the head. He felt sure they were speaking in each other’s minds. Potter, seemingly satisfied with whatever conclusion had just been reached, turned back to a baffled Draco. His eyes lifted as Draco’s expression, which he had purposely let through his mask, hoping it would earn him an explanation. Potter ignored it and continued on. 

“Strategy encompasses those who are best at making formations and deciding war plans. They fight as well, but we’ll get to that next. You understand all that?”

Draco glanced back over to the diagnostic and still didn’t recognize any of the gibberish up there. Still, he nodded. Growing up as a Malfoy he was taught to save his questions till the end. 

“We’ve labelled these in shorthand as A-D. A for Battle, B for Defense, C for Brain, and D for Strategy.” Potter grimaced. “I know the labelling seems wonky, but truthfully there’s a reason we did it this way. We labelled them in frontline importance if we were ever to be invaded. Our strategy would be the last line of the plan, ready to jump in and hopefully save everything with the ideas they’d created while the rest of us were biding time.”

Draco couldn’t deny that while unconventional, it did make sense. Though he had a hard time understanding letting the healers fight before the people that were building the actual strategy. It wasn’t his business though. If the Order wanted to create a poor strategy then it would be their funeral. 

He then remembered where he was, and why he was there. Merlin, maybe he should change his mind and make a run for it. He couldn’t, of course. But the thought was comforting. 

He glanced at the diagnostic and saw the letter B next to the number 5.8. Potter picked up on this immediately.

“As you can see, Luna is a B5.8, which means wholly and truly she is a Defense fighter. If she had scored lower in the B, say a 1.2 or so, then that would mean she also had a great capability of being an A, or a Battle. If she was higher, say a B9.2, then she would also have inclinations for defense, or a C.”

Draco nodded along, finally understanding a bit more. Still, he had questions itching on his tongue.

“What if she were inclined to be a Defense and a Strategy? How could you tell then?”

Potter shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that, actually. If you’re a B then you’re too far away from D for your magical core to be inclined in that direction. It’s another reason why we’ve labelled them this way. Unfortunately for Luna and I, we will never have any natural inclination towards Strategy.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose. “You’re a B as well?”

Potter cast the Diagnostic on himself. “B5.5 as it is. I lean a bit more towards A then Luna does, but overall we make a great match.”

Draco crossed his leg and fought the urge to shake it. He released the tension in his shoulders. “Great match meaning what?”

Harry held out his arm, wand in hand. “Let’s do the diagnostic to see where you fall while we talk, shall we?”

Draco nodded and flinched as the magic slowly washed over him like cold water.

“A1.1.” He looked over to his partner, who had nearly jumped up in excitement. “Merlin, Luna is that—”

“Hermione,” she confirmed, lips pressing together as she suppressed her grin. “That’s merely .1 off from Hermione’s A1.2.” She looked up at Draco. “That’s an amazing match, congratulations. You two will make a strong bind.”

At the moment, he was pretty sure he wanted to bolt and run, Unbreakable Vow be damned. The things he would do to get out of being bound— whatever that entailed— to Granger were endless, but his curiosity got the best of him. He needed to hear the rest. 

“Keep talking before I turn my wand on myself and save you all the trouble.”

Harry nodded. “This is the weird part, so keep up.”

Draco couldn’t imagine it being any weirder, but he sat up straighter anyways. He focused all his energy on unraveling his fingers from his palms. 

“Hermione discovered that magical cores that are similar are able to be linked— or binded, as we like to call it— to create a stronger force. Like two halves coming together to create one powerful being.”

Draco had to clench his jaw in order to keep it from dropping. 

This was the result of the unbelievable magic wielding he saw earlier. The curses were flying so quickly he could hardly believe anyone capable of blocking them.

“Separate, we were formidable. Together, however we are nearly unstoppable.” Potter wiped his hands on his pants before glancing at the witch he had just claimed he was bound to. “I think that’s the basics of it, any questions?”

Draco glared at him and pressed his tongue against his top teeth. “Loads.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Out with it then, Malfoy.”

“What do you mean you’re bound?” It sounded absurd and intimate. The most common binds he could think of were marriage binds, and they would have to tie him down if they wanted to complete that ceremony. 

“We used a spell to, essentially, combine our magical cores.”

“But cores aren’t a tangible thing. They’re not something you can touch.” A pounding radiated behind his eyes and he blinked several times to focus. 

“Right, Malfoy. That’s why we used a spell.”

Fair enough. “Alright, so you two essentially have similar strengths and the Order has found a way to monopolize on that. What are the side effects of the spell?”

Potter once again looked towards Lovegood. She nodded. “There are quite a few minor ones. For example, binding yourself to another person allows your magic to strengthen as a unit, but weaken as a single.”

Draco blinked slowly, fingers twitching as anger bloomed in his stomach. “So you’re saying that you want to bind me to Granger and then send me back to the pits of Hell, knowing I will not be as strong as I once was?” Honestly, this is what he got for throwing his lot in with a bunch of bloody noble houses. If they thought he was willing to risk his own neck, they were in for a shock.

“The longer your bound, the more prevalent it becomes, but honestly it’s not anything that has affected us greatly. In addition, you’ll find you don’t want to duel by yourself. You’ll be naturally drawn to the person you’re bound with.”

Draco leaned forward, elbows on his knees and raised his voice, attempting to contain his temper. “You’re not listening to me. I will not be able to reach out to the partner you’ve assigned me. I will be at the hands of psychos that would love my head on a platter just so they could have my position, never mind the fact I will be bound to a muggle born!”

“We hate to say it Malfoy, but…” he glanced at his partner. “These are our conditions. I highly doubt You-Know-Who would be all that thrilled with your defeat. He seems to like you, if your position of power is anything to go by.”

Draco couldn’t deny that. The Dark Lord tended to turn to him for battle advice and strategies. He found himself wondering why he didn’t end up a D. He shook himself mentally. He could worry about that later.

“The Dark Lord doesn’t like anyone,” he bit out, eyes cast down to his shoes. “But as far as him offing me, I could agree that we have a bit of time before we need to be concerned about that. Go on with the side effects then.”

Potter nodded. “You will never be able to unbind yourself. Forever more, even if you hate her, your magical cores will be entwined as long as you both are alive. In addition, your emotional bond will increase.”

“What, will I fall in love with Granger?” Draco couldn’t imagine a future with any Order members where they didn’t murder each other, but especially not Granger. He could hardly even picture her accepting this match.

“What? No.” Potter shook his head. “Luna and I both have romantic relationships outside of our bind and are in no way interested in each other. Fred and George are bound, in case you won’t take my word at face value.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief, but was disappointed in himself for misreading the signs between the pair in front of him. He prided himself on knowing people, but so far he had been completely off. Draco did not do well with being wrong.

“It’s more like you’ll have an emotional connection with them, that may deepen if the pair chooses so. Harry and I’s connection is extremely bound within our cores at this point. Often we don’t even have to speak to communicate now.”

“Like you read each other’s mind?”

They both shook their heads and laughed. 

“It’s more like… you just kind of know what the other person is thinking, even if you wanted to ask them a question, as soon as you think it you automatically know the answer,” Luna replied.

“You’ll also know what the other person is feeling, though how deep these connections go is entirely up to you. Luna and I, as part of the experiment, have agreed to be part of the trial group that gives in completely to the bind. Each day that we allow our connection to grow deeper, our magic grows stronger and our unity on the field is more in sync.”

“Isn’t it weird? You’re connected to this person, seemingly without your permission.”

The two shared another look and now Draco could see what they meant. They were communicating, but now that he knew it he could tell they weren’t using words. They seemed unsure how to proceed.

“Maybe it is a bit odd,” Lovegood admitted. “We won’t lie and say the bond hasn’t laid the groundwork for a lot of our relationship building— which is why we’re calling it a side effect— but the truth is Harry and I are very happy with the way the binding has brought us together. Though not all pairs are as close as we are, or have let the bind take them as deep as we have, we truly feel that we were not whole before this.” She smiled at Harry. “Not that we weren’t two awesome halves by ourselves, but the bond just makes us feel…”

“Complete.” Potter finished.

Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You feel each other’s emotions? And injuries?”

Lovegood nodded. “It’s for you to note that, while the bind will allow you to feel little pieces of emotion and will alert you when your partner is hurt, if you do not let the bind continue to work deeper the way we have, then it will be minimal.”

“What is it for you then? When Potter gets hurt?”

For the first time since Draco had known her, the blonde girl looked uncomfortable. “Last time one of us was hurt we both ended up in the infirmary with the same pain, though I had no injuries visible.”

“Seems a little more than a minor side effect to me then,” Draco huffed.

“That’s just if you let the bind deepen. The pull to allow the bind to mix in with emotions is strong at times, but like we said, there are other pairs in the experiment that have not allowed it to go further than initial binding and they say they’re fine, that they don’t feel anything like Luna and I. Their dueling, however has improved tenfold in every case of our bonded partners.”

He rolled his eyes. His dueling didn’t need to be any of their concern. He had earned his place. “Anymore side effects, then?”

“One more,” Luna admitted. “Involving death of one person in the bind.” She bit her lip before continuing. “At the time, it was a hypothesis that both would die, but through deaths in the battle we learned that’s not the truth, at least not fully.”

“Then what happens?” The air clouded with tension. The sun disappeared behind a cloud and they were cast in shadows. 

“Those who have experienced it describe it as a piece of them going with their partner when they die.”

“Going with them, what does that even mean?” Draco reminded himself to keep the sneer off his face. He needed this to work. He couldn’t give them any reason to deny him even if he did think this was insane. 

“We couldn’t be certain of it until we paired people off and the worst happened,” Potter answered, looking at the results of his diagnostic once more. “It was something that was hypothesized; that there would be consequences to our beings if we bind ourselves together and someone dies.” He had the gall to lift his eyes to meet Draco’s. “That’s the way everyone who has lost their partner describes it.”

Draco raised his eyebrows and attempted to sound casual, picking a piece of lint off his robes. “And how many people exactly, have lost their partners?”

It was silent for a moment, before Luna rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder in a manner that Draco could have sworn should have been awkward. It would have been years ago. 

For some reason though, it looked natural.

“Let’s just say Hermione isn’t the only person that has found herself in need of a new binding. She was just the one you were most compatible with.” 

Draco nodded his head, letting the information sink in. “So, is Granger going to be a shell of a human then, too busy coping with the loss of her partner to properly fight with me?” He wasn’t about to risk his life for nothing. The entire reason for this switch was so he would come out alive, not to die tragically in the middle of a battle because the person who’s supposed to be looking out for him was too distraught by the death of her friends.

Potter shook his head. “No, it’s not quite like that. Hannah and her were part of the control group that didn’t allow their bind to root any deeper.” Drago could only describe the look on Potter’s face as utter relief. 

“She’s the same Hermione she was before, but just a tad bit… less.” His lips turned down and his posture curved in. Potter was barely coping. Leave it to the bloody Gryffindors to put the weight of the world on their shoulders and then collapse when things don’t go as planned.

“It’s probably not something you would notice,” Lovegood spoke after a long silence. “You didn’t know her well, and the difference really is quite subtle.”

“Overall,” Potter cut in, finally having found his voice, “Hermione remains mentally stable and one of our best duelists in the Order.” He shifted on his feet. “We really can’t afford to have her unpaired.”

“Are there no consequences to being bound to someone else after the original partner’s death?” If these people weren’t loony from this spell the first time, surely the next round would make it happen.

“We’ve found no evidence of that, though admittedly Hermione is the first person that will be rebinded.”

Courageous, or stupid? Draco was beginning to think those two things went hand in hand with Gryffindors.

“The spell hasn’t given us any surprises or side effects we hadn’t foreseen. Therefore we feel confident when we say that when Hannah died, so did the magical bind. The bind is complicated. It sort of like it’s… alive.” Potter flinched at his description, and this only increased Draco’s curiosity.

“Meaning?”

Again, Potter hesitated. Draco wasn’t sure if he was trying to find the best wording, or if he was considering withholding information. He gritted his teeth before mentally shaking himself. He couldn’t allow himself to think like that. He was putting his trust in the Order, even if it was just a miniscule amount.

“It needs to be fed from both sides to continue to survive. Hannah died, therefore her magical core dimmed out and the bond got carried away with it. That’s why we think they describe it as going away with the deceased. We think, metaphorically, part of Hermione’s magical core; the part that was deeply imbedded to Hannah’s core, disappeared when she did too.”

“So the deeper the bond, the more damage if the person dies.” Draco looked at the two in front of him.

Potter seemed to catch his line of thinking. “We’re aware of that, too. Luna and I have already decided to accept that if one of us dies, the other goes as well. We can’t prove it, but it’s what we know to be true.”

Draco swallowed. The harshness of the statement seemed to hang in the air, creating a tense atmosphere.

“Will I be forced to create a deep bind, like what you have?” He almost didn’t want to know the answer.

Harry shrugged. “Hermione and Hannah were a pair that was designated to stave off the bond, to keep it as surface level as possible. I imagine though, that Hermione has plenty of research on the side effects of that level. If anything, it would be most beneficial for you two to allow a moderate bind to manifest. Of course, I leave that up to you to decide together. Maybe best made for after the ceremony.”

Draco’s head was spinning from all the new information. Every cell in his body was thrumming with the urge to run— go as far as possible and pretend like this war wasn’t happening, just as the rest of the world was doing. As if on cue, his Dark Mark burned, reminding him that he would never have that option. This would have to do.

“I’m being summoned,” was all he said. His mask was falling, his Occlumency shields trying to crack open, but they could never know that.

Potter stood, removing the diagnostic and heading back into the sunlight. “Is the cabin you met Hermione at safe as a meeting point? We’d rather you not apparate straight here.”

Draco nodded. “My time with the Dark Lord is normally short. He isn’t a very verbose man. I should be able to meet by the afternoon tomorrow.”

“We’ll have Hermione apparate there at half three tomorrow.”

Draco spun away.


	3. Grey Area

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, as I crank out chapters I’ll post them! Just finished writing and editing ch 16! My regular post date will be on Sunday’s

“Don’t be a prat, Harry.”

“Hermione, why would I lie about this?”

She focused on applying even pressure to her quill. “There is no way that Malfoy and I have a similar magical core.”

“That’s the same thing Pansy said about Neville, and look at them now.”

There was a snapping sound as the quill in Hermione’s hand broke into two pieces. She stared at it for a moment before laying it down and pushing away the parchment she was working on. Clearly now was not the time to be completing the strategy of their next raid.

“Surely you can’t understand my hesitation. You’re paired with Luna, afterall. Practically a match made in Heaven.”

Harry sat down and took her hand. “Yet you and Malfoy are only .1 away. That’s the best match the Order has seen to date.” He examined her face closely. “You’re not lacking in confidence of the diagnostic, are you?”

She clenched her jaw before pulling her hand away and standing up. “I’m not doubting the accuracy of our spell.” She looked towards the bookshelves that held all the muggle novels she hadn’t touched in years. A thick layer of dust coated the bindings. “Maybe I’m just in shock.”

She thought back to Hannah, to the fierce loyalty and warmth she felt towards the girl she had hardly known before she joined the Order. She would do anything for her, and her death hit Hermione like a freight train. The most frightening part, something Hermione had yet to admit out loud, was that it scared her how much she cared for a girl she had not rooted with. Their bind had stayed as superficial as it could get, no matter how hard it had begged them to just give in. They both knew how important the research was. Regret washed through her.

Harry seemed to read her mind. “You can’t compare Hannah and Malfoy. You’ve no idea how you’re going to react with him. Maybe because of your differences it will be easy to stay lightly bound.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “And if not?”

He paused. “The bond doesn’t manufacture anything that isn’t there. It merely enhances it.” He walked forward and turned her until she was facing him. “We’ve been very adamant about that since the beginning. It’s a spell, not a potion. A spell that can’t create something out of nothing. You know this.”

She nodded. “Sometimes emotions and science don’t mesh. Maybe I need to overcome my own prejudices.”

“Malfoy needs to earn our trust, just as Pansy and Theo did. Things probably won’t be easy, but Hermione, the Order needs you.”

She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes. She couldn’t recall the last time she cried and she surely wasn’t about to over Draco Malfoy. “I’ve given everything to the Order.”

She felt more than saw Harry crumple in on himself. “I’m sorry.”

It broke her heart how much he meant it. She was reminded, much like when she looked into Ron’s broken eyes, that she was not the only one that put the weight of this war on their shoulders. She pulled Harry into a strong hug. 

“None of this is your fault, Harry. You didn’t choose to be the Chosen One,” she whispered, voice light.

He grabbed her tighter, head burying into her shoulder for a moment before pulling back. She felt cold at the lack of contact. “But I am the Chosen One. It’s my responsibility to end this.”

She reached for his hand, but he pulled away and walked towards the door. “Luna needs me. Malfoy said he’ll be at the cabin tomorrow at half three.”

With that he was gone, leaving Hermione to sit with her thoughts. She looked towards her war notes and clenched her fists, repressing the urge to throw her work on the ground. Instead, she folded it all and put it in the first drawer of her desk before pulling out her notes on the Bind. She wanted to study up on it, be prepared for anything in the days leading up to the ceremony.

She leafed through the first sections, which mainly consisted of all the work that had gone into creating the diagnostic and the ceremony. It was a complicated spell, both to cast the diagnostic and to complete the binding. She didn’t remember much from her own with Hannah, but knew it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. She cringed at the idea of feeling that same fondness towards Malfoy. 

He was a foul man, and that would remain true whether he continued to support the Order or not. His reasons for joining were strictly for self-preservation, and while that did work in the Light’s favor, she still found it despicable. 

If he thought Voldemort was going to win, he would still be on that side, killing muggles and muggle-borns alike. 

Killing people like Hermione.

She fingered a scar on her inner thigh. She didn’t need to look down; simply traced the letters of ‘dirty blood’. Dolohov had insisted that she’d been branded with mudblood too many times in her previous captures. He’d wanted to get creative this time. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. She’d never thought him to be an intelligent man.

She’d been branded all over. After her first capture where Bellatrix had carved her like a pumpkin, the Death Eaters seemed to think it some sort of tradition to cut into her with an enchanted knife. Psychologically, she knew these scars should bother her, even trigger fits of trauma, but that’s not how she saw it.

Maybe, after the war, she would seek out help for how twisted her mind had become. The pride that she gained from each one of these vulgar scars was clearly not healthy, but she knew her mind was doing its best to cope. She had no energy to focus on this, either way.

They had a war to win.

\---

Hermione arrived at the cabin at exactly half three.

“I expected you to be early, Granger.”

She looked to her left to see Malfoy leant casually against a tree with his ankles crossed. She blew her bangs out of her eyes before giving up and reaching for the hair tie on her wrist. She plaited her hair into braid quickly.

“I’m a busy woman, Malfoy. I don’t have any spare time.”

Malfoy raised his brows. “Do I not take precedence as the spy who very well may just save the wizarding world?”

The smirk that appeared on his lips at the end of his sentence annoyed Hermione more than the actual words spoken. If they were bound, she would have no problem blocking out his voice. She had yet to figure out how they could successfully duel without her needing to look at him. She pursed her lips. She would have to deal with his arrogant attitude. For now.

“I’m here, and on time, am I not?” She wanted to remind him that the world didn’t revolve around him, but seeing as they weren’t bound yet she needed to play nice for a bit longer.

“Where did that fiery personality go, Granger? You’re acting more like a Hufflepuff than anything now.”

She wanted to huff out a breath, but that would be fuel for his fire. She had to continue to redirect him to the task at hand.

“Malfoy, can we talk about the binding? I want to go over when the ceremony will happen and answer any questions you might have thought of over night.”

He pushed himself off the tree then and gestured for her to follow him into the cabin. She really didn’t enjoy being told what to do, but they didn’t have time to plan games. She trudged forward, trainers echoing on the wood porch. 

When he pushed open the squeaky door she noticed the inside had been much better preserved than the outside. Malfoy sat down on a couch in the sitting room, next to a fireplace. He looked over at her expectantly. She did not move.

“The ceremony will happen tomorrow. This is non negotiable, but we will let you pick the time.”

“The Dark Lord is out of town, presumably trying to take over the Netherlands at the moment.” He gave her a wicked grin. “So as luck would have it, I’m free.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and shifted on her feet, annoyed. She knew being amicable with Malfoy wouldn’t be easy and at this point she was thinking it would be better if someone else did correspondence with him.

“Fine. We’ll meet here at nine tomorrow. That will give us a chance to set the ceremony up and also let you meet the other members of the Order.”

Malfoy furrowed his brow. “I think I’ll pass on letting the brave and smart glare at me for hours, but thanks for asking.”

She snorted, turning to walk and inspect her surroundings. “I think you’ll find more than one member may surprise you.”

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

“The ceremony will change things between us, but I trust Harry already told you about that.”

“Yes, after watching him and Loony read each other's minds for an hour and practically act like one being, they were able to tell me of the dueling pros and cons, as well as our… emotional connection.”

Hermione stopped at the fireplace and looked at him. “How in depth did he go about the connection part?”

Malfoy shrugged, picking at his shirt absentmindedly. “He said that at first it wouldn’t be too extreme, but the two of them feel pretty much everything that happens to the other, emotional or physical.”

Hermione nodded. “The bond is very similar to planting a seed. It will start out shallow, and if we allow it then it will root. The deeper it roots, the more entwined our cores will be.”

“Sounds simple enough, I suppose.”

“Malfoy, nothing about this is simple. We will literally be taking the most intimate, magical parts about us and twisting them together, despite the fact that we do not like each other. It’s horrifying, truly.”

Malfoy blinked. “Shouldn’t you be trying to talk me into this, not scaring me into changing my mind?”

Hermione straightened her shoulders. “I want you to understand what you are getting into. Even when we talk about the emotional bond not being strong, we’re saying that in reference to what it can be.”

His eyebrows raised. He still looked arrogant. She wanted to slap it off his face. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Hermione bit out, attempting to keep her temper in check, “that we will always be aware of each other. We will seek each other out, even if we don’t want to, or realize we’re doing it, because our binded cores don’t like to be stretched. We will not function the same as individual units anymore.” She paused, trying to stave off the blush from rising to her cheeks. “We will have difficulty being away from each other for long periods of time.”

Malfoy leant his elbows on his knees. “How long, exactly, is a long period of time?”

Hermione fiddled with the end of her brain. “If we don’t allow the bond to manifest, then it will be a few days. Three, maybe four.”

“What happens if we don’t see each other within that time period?”

Hermione swallowed against her dry throat. As far as the bind went, this would be their biggest challenge. Malfoy wouldn’t be around all the time like the others. They could go weeks on end without seeing each other, if he was anything like Snape.

“We won’t die, or anything. But we will be... uncomfortable.” She twisted to the window, finding the trees outside the best spot to stare. “Twitchy, easily irritable and lacking in concentration. Maybe a slight tug in your chest area. The longer we go, the greater these symptoms will be.”

A look of uncertainty passed across Draco’s face before he once again looked emotionless. “But we’ll be able to stop the bind from manifesting, er, rooting?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, with my last partner, the call to bind was there but we were able to fight it with minimal complications.”

She didn’t want to talk about Hannah right now. She just wanted to get this all over with. She had conflicted feelings about binding with Malfoy. On the one hand, she would have a harder time hating him, most likely. On the other hand, she really didn’t want to live in a world where she felt comfortable with Draco Malfoy, current Death Eater.

“This is Dark Magic, isn’t it.”

She froze, hoping the tension in her shoulders wasn’t too obvious. 

“Is that a question?” She placed her palm against the window pane, the coolness of the glass grounding her. 

A floorboard creaked beneath him as he stood and walked towards her. 

“I know it when I see it.”

She turned sharply, eyes bright and jaw clenched. He was still smirking, like this was some joke. 

“Then I suggest you do some research and come talk to me when you’re actually knowledgeable on the subject.” 

She couldn’t listen to his response; it would start an argument. He opened his mouth but she cut him off. 

“If you don’t have any other questions, then I’ll be back tomorrow to take you over.”

She turned for the door, but walked slowly in case he attempted to call out.

He didn’t.

\---

The next day, after apparating back into Grimmauld Place with Malfoy, Hermione decided to begin with the introductions and tour of the place. 

She started slowly, showing him the downstairs drawing room where larger Order meetings were held, the kitchen as well as the War Room— a name she hated but had fallen into the habit of calling it that all the same.

“The War Room is strictly off limits,” she mentioned, continuing down the narrow hallway. “If you even attempt to enter it, you will be grossly sorry.”

Next, she stopped at Harry and Luna’s room. They were sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed, seemingly in deep conversation. They greeted the pair politely, but Hermione could tell he was perplexed.

“Go ahead and ask it,” she stage whispered.

He turned to her, a look of confusion plastered on his face. “Those two share a bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“They said earlier they were both in relationships.”

Hermione bit back her laugh. 

“Yes, Harry and Ginny have been happily together since the Hogwarts battle and Luna is with— another Order member we’ll see later.” Hermione had nearly spoiled one of the people she’d been waiting to show him.

Draco however seemed too caught up in the bizarreness of the situation to pay her any mind.

“Instead of baiting me, can you explain it?”

Hermione shook her head, pressing her lips together to hide her smile. “I really, really can’t. It’s one of those bind compulsions that is hard to understand unless you experience it.”

“If two want to shag, do the other halves of the bind watch?”

Hermione inhaled sharply. “Godric, no! If a couple wants private time, they merely need to ask.”  
Her hand flew to her chest. “I feel I should also let you know that it isn’t required for bound pairs to live together, it’s just something that most duos have fallen into.”

“Over their intended spouse?”

Hermione shrugged. “For now, yes. I have a hypothesis that our constant dueling practice, and the proximity of us all living in the same house makes the bond much stronger than it would be under normal circumstances, but at this point in time I have no way to prove that.”

Malfoy looked unconvinced.

“I never said these binds were healthy,” she whispered, hoping he would leave Dark Magic out of this, at least for today. “I just hope one day, after the war is over they will be. For now though, all bound pairs are extremely happy with their partners, even if they are more than a bit clingy.”

Draco cleared his throat twice before asking his next question. “Are those who haven’t rooted also sharing a room?”

Hermione flushed. “Yes but I expect that’s because all other pairs are as well. Like I said earlier, it’s not a requirement and we have enough rooms that you can have your own space.”

“Are you going to cling to me?”

Hermione gaped at him. “Do you see me clinging to you now?”

“Well, you are the only one whose interacted with me.”

Hermione felt her face flush as anger brewed in her stomach. “Our cores will want to be close because of the bind. This doesn’t mean that we will necessarily get along any better than we do now. Simply put, we can feel each other's emotions more clearly and it makes it easier to understand.”

“So that’s the basics of it then?” he asked, glancing down a deserted hallway. 

Hermione straightened her spine, adjusting her jumper self consciously. “Essentially, yes. Put in the simplest terms possible.”

“Then the less we allow ourselves to understand what the other is feeling, the easier it will be to keep the bind shallow?”

“Very true. As well as the less you reach out to check on your partner— both mentally and physically— the less you’ll feel the urge to do that in the future.”

“How hard will it be to not reach out?”

Hermione hesitated, unsure how to proceed. All of this was so complicated and putting it into words seemed like a disservice to all the work she had done to create it. They had worked so hard to develop this, and it had certainly done what she wanted it. The tides of the war had started to turn in their favor, even if it was ever so slightly, and even if they were still on the losing side, and even if it had taken two years of these binds for them to finally pay off.

She had spent more than one sleepless night agonizing over if this had all been for nothing. They were losing less people out on the field and during raids, but they still weren’t where they needed to be. The injured were still outnumbering the healthy, Voldemort was continuing to gain followers in the dozens and she— a muggleborn— was now legally not allowed to step foot into the magical world without it being reported.

It was unfair, and currently she was staring into the eyes of one of the people who had helped make this nightmare her reality.

“It differs each day. You can’t let your emotions rule you, or else you’ll find yourself seeking me when you’re vulnerable.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and shook his head. “We won’t have much to worry about on my front then. I am completely in control of my emotions.” He eyed her, starting from her toes and meeting her sharp gaze. “You, on the other hand, I’m not so sure about.”

Hermione pushed her bangs behind her ears slowly, sure to draw attention to her wrist and full of satisfaction as Malfoy’s eyes dropped to the mudblood scar on her inner arm— the first she’d ever received, while he stood and watched like the coward she knew him to be.

“I seem to remember you were easily provoked back in our Hogwarts day.” She sauntered towards him, drawing out her words.

Malfoy simply put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. His stare was cold and calculating, but held none of the unchecked emotion that he had when Harry or herself had gotten a good insult in.

“Do you think I would still be alive if the Dark Lord felt me to be too unstable?”

“Do you think you would be alive if he knew you were here, ready to give yourself over to the Light?”

Draco stiffened, but his eyes remained locked on hers. She could feel the malice simmering below the surface, but she wouldn’t back down.

“Clearly deceit is one of your talents. I will not be as easily fooled as your so called Dark Lord.”

Neither of them moved while he chewed over her response, seemingly trying to decide if he should reply back or not. Eventually he averted his eyes to the ceiling.

“Shall we continue on then, or not?”

Hermione eyed him for a moment more, trying to calm her heart rate. Eventually she nodded and hurried down the hallway they had stopped in. She cursed herself for having such a heated conversation in an open place. 

“There’s one more thing I want to show you, and then I will be off to complete the preparations for our ceremony.”

Draco followed at a much slower pace. Even though Hermione knew he did it to get on her nerves, she couldn’t stop her irritation from translating into her body language. Her shoulders were stiff and she had to constantly remind herself to unclench her fists. It drove her mad knowing the satisfaction he was getting by her reaction. That was the last thing she wanted to give him.

“You won’t be babysitting me, then?” he echoed the words from his first day at Headquarters. She was annoyed at herself for noticing.

“No, I quite think the people we’re about to see will occupy your time just fine.” She waited at the door with her back against it, arm twisted behind her on the handle.

“Don’t say I’ve never done anything nice for you, Malfoy.”

She opened the door before he could respond.

Inside, Theo and Pansy were sitting on a couch, bent over a slew of papers on the coffee table in front of them. Neither of them raised their heads upon the intrusion, but she heard a small gasp from the man behind her.

Pansy, in the middle of flipping the page, looked up, mouth open with a question. She glanced at Hermione first, and behind her. Her question fell away as her eyes widened and her jaw dropped in shock. Still, no one spoke.

“I assume there is much to be discussed between the three of you. All I’ll say is that Malfoy is my new intended partner, and the ceremony is happening later today.” 

Theo had raised his head when Hermione began speaking. Stoic as ever, he merely raised his eyebrows at Malfoy.

She left them inside the room, slipping past Malfoy who stood stock still as Pansy began to sob and Theo finally spoke.

“Draco, it’s about time.”


	4. Bind, Band, Bound

“I’ve got to admit, I didn’t think either of you capable of pulling a fake death scandall off on me.” Draco was sitting now, hands folded in his lap to hide their shaking. In just a few hours he would find himself thrust into a magical ceremony that would bind him to one the witches he hated most. To top it off, he was now sitting in front of his two best friends he had thought were killed off years ago. To say his nerves were shot would be a gross under exaggeration.

Theo merely shrugged before passing Draco a cup of tea. He brought it up to his lips and smelled the faintest hint of Calming Draught. He sent a silent thank you to the man across from him.

“Leaving you behind was the hardest part. I wanted to bring you with us, but Theo said you would never have listened at the time.” Pansy’s eyes were still red from crying.

Apparently neither her nor Theo were privy to Draco’s scheduled appearance. The little swot had insisted it was because the council didn’t want to get their hopes up that he was here to stay, but Draco couldn’t help but snap at her about old prejudices still lingering. Too bad she had long disappeared by then.

“We knew eventually you would come round and see things the same way we did, but at the time you were climbing ranks so quickly. You were practically high off the power.”

Draco couldn’t think about how naive he was at the time. “And how did you see things, Nott?”

“That we were fucked six ways til Sunday if we stayed with the Dark Lord.”

Despite the high stress that had been the past few days, Draco laughed. Leave it to Theo to make light of war.

“So, are you two both part of her crazy experiment?”

Pansy nodded. “It was their way of ensuring our loyalty. At the time we thought they were barking mad. If we had true intentions to betray them then a silly little spell couldn’t stop us.”

The implication clouded the atmosphere. “And now?”

“Well, it turns out it was a great strategy on their part,” Theo began. “I can hardly stand going a whole day without seeing my partner, never mind fighting on the other side of a war.”

Draco raised his eyebrows and clicked his jaw shut once he realized it was hanging open. “And who’s your partner?”

“The small Weasley girl.”

Draco gaped once again, but turned to Pansy who was averting her eyes. “What about you?”

“Oh, I have Longbottom.” She waved her hand nonchalantly. “Draco, let’s talk about you and the binding ceremony that’s coming up. Perhaps Theo and I could help you prepare—”

“Longbottom? Are you kidding me?”

Pansy threw her arms up in surrender. “I didn’t choose my partner, the diagnostic did!” She waved her wand over her head and Draco saw a glaring B1.8 pop up. She then did the same to Theo and noticed an A7.8 floating above him.

“Ginny is a A7.3. We are nearly perfect when it comes to our magical cores pairing up, and frankly there’s no use disputing that when you see it on the field.”

“Do you enjoy your time with the Weasley then?” He didn’t attempt to mask the disgust in his voice.

Theo glared, leaning back against the couch and crossing his leg over the opposite knee. “If you’re talking romantically then I kindly ask you to remove your head from your behind. Ginny and I are strictly platonic.” He paused, pursing his lips. “But, pretending like you aren’t a giant arsehole and were merely inquiring of how the binding has treated our relationship, then I point you to the statement I made earlier. I don’t like to be away from Ginny for more time than necessary.”

Draco leaned forward conspiratorially, noticing the normally still man was constantly shifting and fidgeting. “You’ve let the bond go deep, then?”

“Yes, as was made very clear in my terms and conditions when I signed myself over to the Order. They wanted to make sure I wouldn’t leave, therefore our bind was crucial.” He set down his tea cup. 

“Pansy?”

Her face reddened and she had the decency to look guilty. “My relationship with Longbottom, while deeply bound because I had the same terms as Theo, is none of your business, Draco.” She stuck her nose in the air.

“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen into the sack with that bumbling fool.” He sneered openly, feeling gratification at Pansy’s clenched teeth.

“Neville is labelled as a Defense with a B2.6, which as you will learn makes him an extremely formidable fighter. We often flex as frontline fighters in battle as well.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “We do quite well, thank you very much and I don’t think a bumbling fool, as you so eloquently put it, would have been able to survive over a dozen battles across the past two years.” With that, Pansy stormed away, leaving Draco with his mouth slightly ajar.

Theo sighed. “I know you don’t understand this yet mate, but you can’t insult someone’s bound partner. It’s just not right.”

“How am I supposed to trust anything Pansy says when she’s shagging a Gryffindor? Not to mention it’s probably all manufactured feelings from the bloody bind. How can she do that?”

Theo looked uncomfortable, opening and shutting his mouth several times before he spoke.

“I know this is hard to stomach, Draco. The bind will not make you feel anything that you, yourself, without the bind wouldn’t. It simply strengthens and plays on all the emotions that are already there.”

“I hate Granger.”

Theo shook his head. “You can’t.”

Draco sputtered. “What do you mean I can’t?”

“The spell would have never deemed you two a match, and such a strong one at that, if either of you had any real feelings of malice towards each other.”

Draco gritted his teeth. “That’s utter bollocks and you know it. She’s a swot and despite what her seemingly perfect spell shows, I will prove it to all of you.”

“Don’t be such a prat, Draco. You’ve no idea what it will be like, despite what everyone has been telling you.”

“Even if I felt anything other than hate for her, it would just be the stupid incantation planting false feelings into my head. How can neither of you see that? It’s no better than amortentia or— the Imperius curse!” Theo rolled his eyes but Draco pushed on. “Yeah, think about it! It’s making you feel these strong emotions— that you would have never felt before— so much so that you’re getting all antsy just because you haven’t seen your Ginger hag in a few hours.”

Theo’s eyes flashed with anger and he stood, looming over Draco.

“It’s like I said,” he whispered, moving his face closer until it was inches from Draco’s, his voice was dripping with looming threat. “You shouldn’t insult someone’s bound partner.” 

He straightened then, heading for the door. “Now, as you’ve pointed out, I need to go see Ginny. I’ll be waiting for your apology after the binding ceremony. Good luck, Malfoy.” 

\---

Hermione was standing in the kitchen, eating toast as she reviewed the latest report on the infiltration they had completed yesterday. Seven injuries, but no deaths. The A team was getting good. She bit back a smirk. 

She jumped when the door slammed open and Pansy Parkinson stormed in, snatching the jam from a cupboard and slamming it on the counter. 

Hermione raised her brows. She hadn’t seen Pansy so unhinged since Malfoy was hit by Harry’s sectumsempra spell in sixth year. 

“Everything alright?”

She huffed, throwing a heap of raspberry preserves onto a biscuit. 

“Draco’s a right git, that’s all.”

Hermione merely nodded her assent, attempting to not think about how poorly their interactions had gone thus far.

“At least you won’t be bound to him.”

Pansy raised her glass of water in a mock toast. “Cheers to that, good luck.”

It was silent for a while while Pansy ate her snack and Hermione continued to read. 

“He wasn’t always like this, you know.”

Hermione snorted and hardly held back her sarcastic laugh. “I think you’re underestimating your own character growth.”

Pansy twisted her fingers in her lap. “No, it’s not like that at all. After Draco didn’t kill Dumbledore he really felt the need to prove himself. He got more detached, more serious about his Death Eater standing.” She was still looking at her legs, and whispered the last part. 

“He used to care, before then. He shut it off and I guess I thought him coming to the Order meant the switch had been turned.” 

Hermione could hear the tears in her voice, even before they splattered onto the countertop. 

Hermione hesitated. It’s not that her and Pansy didn’t get along, more that she had never been good with emotions in the first place and the war had hardened that part over even more so. Eventually she gave into instincts and wrapped her arms around the vulnerable witch. 

“It took you weeks to come around, remember? I’m sure Theo would have hexed me several times if he hadn’t thought it wouldn’t get him thrown out onto the streets.” She gave a tight squeeze before holding her out at arm’s length. “It’s only been a few days and he’s been given a lot of information.”

She didn’t tell her to give him a chance, because once again she didn’t want to get her hopes up. It’s possible Draco could never change back to the man Pansy knew. He could remain the same cold, unfeeling person Pansy claimed to be new, though Hermione was sure he’d always been this way. 

As Hermione was turning back to her papers and Pansy was cleaning her dishes, Theo sauntered into the kitchen. 

“Have either of you seen Ginny? I desperately need to feel loved and cherished after that conversation.” He fanned himself dramatically, hopping on the counter to peer over Hermione’s shoulder at the documents in her hand. 

She smiled softly at him before passing him the parchment to look at closer. “You too, huh?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry, love. You really have some shite luck here lately.”

She shrugged off Theo’s gruff conversation. She knew better than to be offended by his blunt comments. It was simply how he was. 

“For Salazar’s sake, Theo. You’re so bound to the girl you’re nearly the same person yet you can’t think to, I don’t know, reach out and feel where she is in the house instead of coming and asking us?” 

Theo held his hand up to his chest in mock surprise. “My word, Pansy. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to come in here and let you vent, without acting like I actually care.”

“Very Slytherin of you,” Hermione nodded at him with a smile. 

“Yes, but admitting his actual reasoning for coming here is very Gryffindor,” Pansy bit back, pointing a finger accusingly at his chest. “You’re letting the bloody Weasley rub off on you.”

“Better than letting the Gryffindor who pulled Godric’s bloody sword out of the sorting hat rub one  _ out  _ on me.”

Pansy’s jaw dropped in shock and Theo shot her a blazing smile. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, Ginny is,” he looked to the ceiling, lips pursed in thought, “on the third floor, the second door to the right.” He hopped off the counter. “I must be off.”

Pansy shot Hermione a glance, which she was sure had to be similar to the one on her own face. Pansy burst into laughter, which had Hermione bent over the counter and holding her sides just moments later.

Pansy took gulping breaths to steady herself. “He may be a git, but I guess he did lighten my mood in the end.”

\---

Hermione repressed the urge to pace up and down the hallway outside the sitting room. People had started piling in, anticipating the binding ceremony. She knew this was a big deal. Ceremonies in general tended to draw a large crowd, as they were exciting and intriguing, especially to those who were already bound. The magic practically sizzled in the air, all cores seeming to come alive. 

This one was different. This was Hermione’s second round. 

People wanted to see the results. 

She heard the floorboards creak under her feet; the only sign that she had given into her nervous urges. She stopped walking and pressed her back against the rough wall. 

Her nerves were shot from the many traumatic events from the war. She could hardly believe anything could work her up at this point. 

But here she was, about to make what was probably a huge mistake, all in the name of the war. 

She pressed her eyes shut, letting the anguish of everything she’s gone through wash over her before she used her Occlumency to push all those memories to the back. 

There simply wasn’t enough time. She checked her watch once more before sighing and heading back to the shut door. She could hear the muffled voices beyond. Everyone was waiting for her. She couldn’t let them down, not even over her hatred for Draco bleeding Malfoy. 

When she entered, she noticed the ceremonial Binding Circle had already been drawn and split in half by blue magic. She would stand in one half, Malfoy in the other. As the ceremony was completed and their magical cores joined, the line in the middle would disappear. 

The ceremony would not take any set amount of time. Some were quick, finishing within just a few minutes while others had lasted hours. The time it took had not had any direct relation to the strength of the bind or the people. It seemed random, as far as the research had shown. Therefore she had no way of knowing what would happen today, or how long it would take.

Every ceremony was unique. Each binding circle had a different thickness and color, matching up with the cores that would be paired during this time. This circle was thick, but the line in the center was not. It was curious. Hermione’s fingers itched for her notebook and a quill. She longed to write all this down, knowing it was pertinent to the research.

She glanced around and saw that Malfoy was seated on a couch between Pansy and Theo, who had their partners on either side of them. They both still looked rather miffed, but Pansy had her hand in Malfoy’s nonetheless.

“Everything has been prepared,” Harry murmured in her ear. She jumped slightly and turned to look at him. She hadn’t even noticed he’d approached her.

She nodded, chalking up her lowered guard to nerves. “Let’s get started then.” 

She moved towards the circle and gestured to Malfoy. He looked unsure for only a moment before standing. Hermione saw Pansy give his hand a hard squeeze before releasing him.

Draco approached her. “I’ve no idea what I’m supposed to do.” His voice was tight and she wanted to gloat. 

“Don’t worry, you will.”

Every ceremony was unique. No matchup was the same. So it shouldn’t have surprised her, when they were testing this out the first few times, to see that no ceremony involved the same ritual. Some partners held hands, some linked elbows, while others simply stood, facing each other.

She tried not to pay attention to the other people in the room. She didn’t want to be made a spectacle simply because a Death Eater was part of this.

“Step in the circle,” Harry commanded. He wasn’t always the one to complete the ritual, and she wasn’t aware that he would be until this very moment. It wasn’t unusual, and instinctively she knew this felt right. No one else would be able to properly bind the two together.

They both stepped over the blue line. Hermione gasped at the magic she was hit with. It was powerful; more so than anything she had ever felt. Better than a strong cup of coffee after a night of no sleep. She stood, facing Harry and the group of onlookers, and reached a hand through the center. Malfoy grabbed it loosely and she reciprocated the pressure.

Harry lifted his wand and began the silent incantations, slowly circling the pair as he did so.

This was the reason the spells had taken so long to develop. If said verbally, the binding didn’t stick. The line drawn through the circle would never disintegrate, and the cores would stay seperate. Why this was, no one had figured out yet. Truthfully, it wasn’t something they were actively looking into. The ceremony worked the way it was, the why and how wasn’t important at this time. 

She hoped, when the war was over, she would be able to delve deeper into all the questions.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the trickle of cold sliding down her spine. It wasn’t unpleasant— more reminiscent of running through a sprinkler on a hot summer day than anything. It caused her grip to tighten and she glanced at her partner at the same time he turned his head towards her.

Heat, starting at her toes and moving slowly up, came next. She visibly relaxed as it moved past her ribs and up into her shoulders. It felt like a warm bath after a long day. The aroma of citrus and vanilla invaded her nostrils— her favorite scents she would always use when trying to unwind. The tension was leaving her for the first time in years and standing suddenly felt like too much work. She crumpled in on herself, legs folded to the side and leaned heavily against her partner, who she assumed to be in the same state as herself. She didn’t much care, not when all sense of urgency had left her brain and the warmth next to her seemed to draw her in.

She’s not sure how long she stayed like that. She remembered something similar happening during her original binding— things seem to black out. When she came to, she was in the same position, but the room was much emptier. Harry was squatted to her eye level.

“You okay, ‘Mione?”

She didn’t answer; couldn’t seem to find her voice. She felt light and energetic. She wanted to go outside and start a snowball fight even though they were in the dead of summer.

The extra magic that now coursed through her veins felt much less cumbersome than her own. She wanted more. She wanted to cloak herself in it.

She shook herself and stood up from the floor, causing Malfoy to falter before he too, was on his feet and backing away from her. She glanced at his face.

He was pale. His eyes searched hers desperately and she could tell he was feeling it too. He took a step forward while she stepped back once.

“Distance will help,” she told him. She looked over her shoulder to Theo, who was already standing and heading their way with Ginny in tow.

“We’ll take him down to get something to eat,” he said, grabbing Malfoy’s elbow and pulling him towards the door. His gaze never left hers and she felt a pull at her chest the further away he got.

She didn’t remember it being so hard to fight these urges with Hannah.

“You two are more compatible,” Harry whispered, answering her unspoken thoughts. “It would make sense that your bind would be initially stronger.”

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice. She could feel him, down below a floor, pacing. His emotions probed out to her and she fought the urge to let them in. He was confused and desperate and wasn’t  _ suppressing  _ like they had agreed.

“He’s not doing well.” Her voice was shaky. She clasped her hands firmly together, afraid they wouldn’t fair much better.

__ “He needs some time and distance. It wasn’t easy for you the first time either.”

“It’s not easy now,” she seethed through her teeth. Her tone was needy and she tried to press down the desire to go and console him, to let him know they were in this together.

Harry placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest. “You agreed to not root the bond,” he reminded gently. “If you go down there now, you will allow it to start manifesting.”

“They’re not helping him.” She could feel his panic ebbing and flowing. He was practically prying off the door she had shut her emotions behind. The urge to give in became nearly unbearable. Her chest was pulling her, trying to lead her closer to her partner. If she gave in then maybe she would be able to  _ think— _

“Let’s get out of here.” Harry apparated before she had a chance to argue.

They landed on the doorstep to a different safehouse. Hermione rubbed her eyes and then glanced at Harry. His eyes glimmered with concern and she nuzzled her head into his chest, as gasps fell from her lips.

“That’s better.” The pain and urge were still there, but the lack of Malfoy’s presence made it more difficult for a bind that was so new to stretch this far. In some ways, the wanting was worse— distance was never ideal in this bind, but it bought them some time to think clearly before they saw each other again.

“I don’t remember it being like that at all.” Hermione headed into the sitting room and settled on the couch. This house was mostly empty, reserved for the extremely injured which— thank Merlin— they were currently lacking in.

“What’s it like?” Harry sat next to her, close enough to reach out and touch her, but allowing her a bit of personal space.

“With Hannah it was all calming presence and trust. I felt like I was wrapped in a warm blanket and the magic reassured me in my darkest times.”

Harry fiddled with his glasses while she spoke. “And this one?”

Hermione shook herself physically. “It’s more alive. I can hardly believe you can’t see the magic running through my body. It’s jumping, thrumming and reminding me it’s there. But it’s weightless; I feel like I can accomplish anything. I’ve more energy than I can remember since the start of all this mess. It’s like it’s got faith in me, urging me to do the things that normally cause me pause.”

“It sounds dangerous.”

Hermione simply nodded, caught up in the feel of her new normal. Harry wasn’t wrong. She could find herself giving into her more reckless impulses without much convincing now. It was freeing, but also frightening.

“I think I’m okay now, Harry. We should head back.”

She stood, but Harry remained planted on the couch. His gaze settled on her and his lips were pressed together.

“How am I to know if this isn’t you just giving into one of your reckless urges?”

She held her hand out to him, refusing to answer until he grabbed it and lifted himself to stand next to her. 

“You can’t, but if this is how I’m going to be from now on, then we’ll have to deal with it. This magic isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

Harry still looked unconvinced, but he held his arm out for a side along apparition anyhow.

“Well, time to face Malfoy, then.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Aftershocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday update! I just finished writing chapter 17! I’m probably going to be working on 18 as well. per usual, if I write extra chapters this week, I’ll play extra chapters!
> 
> Also, your sweet comments make my heart sing and motivate me to write!

Draco wasn’t sure how he had been removed from the binding room, nor how his hands had ended up around Theo’s throat with him pressed against the wall. When he came to— truly had his wits about him once more— there were several wands pointed at him and Theo sported a black eye.

He dropped his hands immediately, stepping back several paces. 

“Harry’s apparated away. I assume he took Hermione with him.” An airy voice from behind spoke, but Draco couldn’t pay it any mind. He focused on breathing.

He felt a pull in his chest, begging him to leave the house. Where it intended to take him, he wasn’t sure, but he knew that if he gave into the urge he would find Granger on the other side of his apparition. It was an unsettling feeling. His body felt heavier in a sense, but not in a bad way. It was as if he had been floating a few inches off the ground before, and the weight of the new magic in his veins brought him back on the floor. He found it was easier to think now, like the clouds had been cleared from his brain and his emotions had been dialed down a few notches.

After he was sure he could speak without his voice breaking, he glanced around the room.

Pansy was sitting in Longbottom’s lap, arms circled around his neck and a concerned look on her face. Theo had joined his Weasley in the corner by the counter, and Lovegood stood a few feet away from him, inspecting his face.

“You’ve broken his nose, Theo,” Pansy shot the man a venomous glare.

“He was choking me, Pans. Surely I can’t be faulted for this transgression completely.” Weasley was in the process of healing his black eye and he flinched against her touch.

“What happened?” He remembered entering the magical circle and falling to his knees, but everything else seemed fuzzy, as if he was drunk while it happened.

They all stood staring for a moment. He wondered if they had already tried explaining this to him. The Weasley— Ginny, he was going to begin calling her Ginny, lest Theo chew him out again— spoke.

“You were lost to the bind. At first it seemed normal. We know you two are trying to keep the bind superficial, so we removed you from the room.” She reached for a rag, wetting it before dabbing it lightly at the side of Theo’s face, where blood was sliding down to his throat. “That was when you lost your shit.”

He hated when other people performed theatrics. “Meaning?”

Pansy stood up, approaching him slowly with her hand reached out. 

“You weren’t speaking. You were in on yourself, focused on the bind. We could tell so Theo tried to talk to you and get you out of it, but when he reached out, you.. you went mad and started hitting him muggle style.”

Draco noticed, for the first time, the throbbing pain in his nose. He reached up and felt sticky warmth staining his fingers. Pansy cast a quick episkey before cleaning the blood off his face.

He glanced at Theo when she was done. His eyes were swimming with pity and Draco found he couldn’t meet them. 

“Sorry mate. I don’t know what came over me.”

Theo shook his head. “It’s not easy. I’m just glad Potter was able to use his brain and get Granger out of here.”

On cue, there was a cracking sound and the two stood in the center of the kitchen. It was silent as the pair took in the scene in front of them. Everyone was currently on their feet with wands in hand and bloody rags littered the countertop.

Granger turned to face him slowly. “What,” she bit out slowly, “in the name of Godric happened?”

He kept his eyes on her shoes. They were simple trainers; practical for the everyday life of war, he thought absentmindedly. When those could no longer distract him from the longing he felt, he moved to her pants. They were some type of black cotton material that hugged her tightly. They seemed reasonable for days that required a lot of physical activity and training. He assumed most days were like that. Much like everything else in her life, she was smart about the way she chose to dress.

“Malfoy.” He snapped out of his reverie and looked into her eyes. 

Mistake.

He could feel the pull stronger now, and his feet moved forward on their own. He took two steps before he grabbed the counter and forced himself to stop.

He hated that there was an audience to witness all this. They were watching him struggle to keep physical distance between himself and the woman he was bound to. All around him the bonded partners had flocked to each other’s sides and stood with practically no distance between them. Envied flooded his system and he hated himself for it.

“Stop putting out feelers, Malfoy. We agreed to not root, yet I am the only one putting in any effort.”

Anger flared in his stomach. Couldn’t she see how hard he was trying?

“Not hard enough, clearly. I can feel everything.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Everything? He raised his eyebrows at her, waiting to see if she would answer his unspoken question. She merely pursed her lips, apparently waiting for a response.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing here. Unlike you, I’ve never done this.”

It was a low blow, and distantly he felt a surge of anguish. It was too far away to properly identify, but he knew it was Granger’s. His instincts told him to apologize and his mouth opened before he had even thought about it.

“Don’t,” she ground through clenched teeth. “We’re supposed to be ignoring the urges to feel and care about each other’s emotions. Pull back.”

He rolled his eyes. “If I knew how, do you think I’d still be here, emotionally groping you?” Honestly, the bint claimed to be smart.

Her nostrils flared and he smirked at the vindication he felt. At least this could be one more way to work her up. He could filter his thoughts and feelings and make sure only the nastiest things got through to her.

“Focus on your magic, not mine. It will help ground you.”

That was ironic, Draco thought, because he had never felt so grounded in his life. 

“Or rather, raise you back up,” Granger corrected. His head snapped up. So she could sense his magic. Apparently it felt the same to her as well.

He opened his mouth and he wasn’t sure if an angry retort or the apology he still felt compelled to give would fall out, but she shook her head sharply and he shut it.

“Focus on your magic.”

He glared at her before closing his eyes and trying to regain some sense of composure, if he had any left.

He felt her magic inside him, flowing slowly, like the water in a lake on a breezeless day. He searched deeper and found his, moving at a quicker rate, resembling more of a creek after a large rainfall. It buzzed in his veins, calling to him, begging to be used. He’d always felt a strong calling towards his magic and looked for any reason to use it. Whether it be to lay out his clothes in the morning or hex a first year, he just felt better when they worked in tandem.

After a moment he opened his eyes and repressed the urge to sigh. He could still feel her, and that blasted pulling in his chest, but he felt more like himself. Granger seemed to have noticed, as she relaxed her shoulders and rolled them back lightly. He hated himself for noticing that. It was so subtle and no one else in the room was even looking at her. But to him, the relief was evident. 

“Good,” she took a step towards him and he felt panic rise in his chest. Hadn’t the whole point of this been to seperate them? 

“Now that you know how to separate yourself, you need to be able to do it while we’re in close contact.” She licked her lips, still taking tentative steps forward.

He stepped back a few paces. “Can’t you give me a chance to breathe first?” Her face was a mask of emotionless indifference. She had been like this the whole time, he realized. He just hadn’t cared what she was feeling until that bloody ceremony. 

Was she as nervous as he was? She had an advantage, considering she had done this before. He felt like a first year student at Hogwarts all over again.

“Pull back, Malfoy. You’re reaching again.”

He glanced around at all the people ogling their interactions.

“Can’t we go somewhere else? We aren’t a muggle picture show for Salazaar’s sake.”

Granger seemed to notice the eyes for the first time. A blush dusted her cheeks before she nodded and gestured for him to follow her out of the room. He did so, walking several paces behind what would be deemed socially acceptable.

When they reached the third floor, she took a right and travelled down five doors before opening one up. Draco peered inside.

It was a sparsely decorated bedroom. He looked toward her.

“Yours?”

She shook her head. “Yours. While you’re here, at least. I know you’ll have times where you’ll be away, but we wanted to give you your own space here. If you don’t stay here, it’s fine but…” she trailed off, seemingly uncomfortable. “Well it’s right next door to my room.”

“Oh.” He was mad at the relief he felt at that.

“I’m sure you understand what I was talking about earlier. We’ll be compelled to be closer to each other now. We’ll sleep best with less distance between us.”

He nodded once, looking around the room to avoid meeting her eyes. They had moved closer to each other during the conversation and they both now stood in the center. He didn’t remember taking any steps in the room, no creaking of the warped wood floor to let him know he’d moved, but the feeling in his chest was now a pleasant thrumming opposed to a dull ache.

“How do you feel?” Her voice was a near whisper and the nervous undertones wavered her words.

“I feel great,” he admitted, wishing he could lie but knowing it was pointless, “holding back is harder than I thought.”

It was so easy to be honest with her, he noticed. He didn’t want to fight it. He knew she wouldn’t judge him. Maybe she was feeling some of the same things herself. Maybe—

“Pull back.” Her voice was gentle but the words held authority.

The rejection stung even though he had agreed to this in the first place. How could she hold back? Everything in his body was screaming at him to trust the thrumming and wherever it would lead him. But Granger stood there, her face a mask and he knew she wouldn’t cave first.

“You’re a cold woman.” Anger was something he tended to default to when things got too complicated. It was easier to deal with. 

Her face contorted and she glared at him before turning away. It would be much easier to get a rise out of her knowing that their emotions— however loosely— were connected. He could feel her anger, even when she was trying to conceal it.

“I get it Granger.” He began circling her, like an owl to prey. “It’s hard to make connections during wartime.”

She stiffened, but her face had fallen back to impassive.

His confidence bloomed, and he was aware he was hitting the nail on the head. When he was right by her ear, he leaned down and whispered. 

“Maybe you aren’t capable of meaningful emotions anymore.”

“Shut it, Malfoy.” Her tone quivered with anger. It only egged him on.

“Anger is easy, isn’t it? Everything else just seems pointless. Only a sadist could feel joy during this time period. Relationships are just an invitation to get hurt.” He turned her so she was facing him head on. Her brown eyes glowed with suppressed rage. “Better off to just distance yourself from everyone. They could all be dead and it will be easier to deal with when it happens if you’re not too close.”

Granger stormed to the door then, but paused when her hand touched the handle. Her shoulders heaved and he could hear her labored breathing. She turned then, wild hair whipping behind her back.

“You think you know me because you can feel my insecurities right now, but you’ve no idea who I’ve become since sixth year. I’ve made concessions during this war because I will do anything,” she stepped towards him, shoes echoing loudly in the nearly bare environment, “anything to end this. Even if I destroy myself in the process.” Her fists clenched at her sides and for a second he thought she might punch him, but after a moment’s hesitation she was storming back to the door.

She was gone before he could totally process her words.

\---  
Draco hadn’t left the room all evening. 

He hadn’t apparated back to the manor, because he had no duties there today and frankly the thought of leaving practically left a gaping hole in his chest.

So he sat on his bed until well after the sun had set, mulling over his fight with Granger over and over until the guilt was practically eating him alive. He wanted to go next door— he could hear her shuffling around in there— and apologize for his childish behavior.

But a larger part— his ego, probably— was mad at himself for feeling any guilt at all. He had never felt remorse in the past when taunting her. Why should things change now? Sure, he could feel that his words had eaten at her, were still bothering her at this very moment, actually. He was walking towards the door before he even realized it and stomped his feet to a halt when he understood what was happening.

He tried to focus on his justification once more. He had always known his teasing bothered Granger. That was the point, wasn’t it? To try and get a rise out of her. It was quite easy back in the day, but now she took a little more time and effort. But that was fine. He was a patient man these days. 

He had almost talked himself out of feeling guilty when another pulse of negative emotion hit him. He couldn’t identify it properly, but it caused him to grab at his chest, shirt balling in his fist.

Draco lifted his head up as Granger knocked. He knew it was her, could feel it in the pleasant thrumming sensation. The tightrope in his chest loosened. His mouth went dry at the thought of confronting her without properly sorting out his feelings. Nonetheless, he answered the door to see her emotionless face. For the first time, he noticed deep, purple circles underneath her eyes. 

“I wanted to give you one of my shirts.” She held out a grey cotton jumper to him. He gaped at her.

She rolled her eyes and shook it, prompting Draco to snatch it. “Sleeping isn’t going to be easy. It never is in the beginning. The bind is so needy and seeing as we don’t plan to let it root, it will be extra difficult to deal with. Not to mention our partnership is rather unconventional, seeing as you won’t always be around.” She pressed her lips together and raised her eyes to meet his.

“Having something that smells like me will probably help. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, but cut the arrogance act and just take the damned thing. I promise I won’t ask.”

He dropped his hand back to his side, feeling rather cowed. He was in the process of handing it back to her, but deciding he wasn’t ready for another argument, threw the article on his bed.

“I don’t have anything to give you right now.”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. You’re new to all this so I figure I should give you anything that might help.”

He nodded and took a step back. She stood in the doorway still, shoulders rigid and lips parted. She didn’t seem to notice the awkward tension hanging heavy in the air.

“You obviously want something, so just spit it out already,” he bit out.

She smirked, something that wouldn’t have looked so natural on the girl he taunted all those years ago. 

“I was just waiting to see if I was going to get the apology I deserve. You know, the one you’ve been mulling over for half a day now.”

He grit his teeth, wondering if no response would be the best solution to this. 

Who was he kidding, that was not an option.

“I don’t owe you anything, Granger. Seeing as I’m risking it all to help the Order out, you should take my presence as an absolute honor. I’m sure I’ll be touted as a hero in the new world.”

For all the face she’d put on since he’d been here, he would have never guessed the strong emotions brewing beneath the surface. Her anger struck his core like lightning and he physically flinched.

“You must understand, Malfoy,” she began, walking slowly towards him in a — seductive? —manner. He’d had no idea Granger could move her hips that way. He stored the thought away to examine later. “That no matter what you do from here on out, it doesn’t change all transgressions from the past four years you’ve done.”

He lifted his chin. “The Order doesn’t think people can change?”

The smile she sent him was positively mad, almost closer to a grimace. “Oh, the Order can be swayed.” She looked up to the ceiling, as if in contemplation. Her curls flowed around her as she talked and he found himself following her hair rather than her body. “Myself, on the other hand, I know you’re the same git you’ve always been.”

“If you’re trying to hurt my feelings, you’ll have to be crueler than that. You see my nerves are shot from all the cruciatus curses I’ve had to endure. Maybe you could try your hand at an Unforgivable every now and again and let me know how you fare.”

Her cheeks tinged pink and she frowned, but reaching out to feel her emotions, he knew she wasn’t embarrassed. Scared, for some odd reason.

“You have a lot to learn about me, Malfoy.”

With that, she was gone.


	6. Euphoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello, just finished writing chapter 18 soo here’s the next one to publish! It’s really weird writing so far ahead of what I’m posting, I’ve never had a posting schedule and I’ve always just been too excited so I post it as soon as it’s written, but IM TRYING to be responsible.  
> Your comments have been so sweet and are the only reason this last chapter was written so fast. Thank you sososo much and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Draco ended up staying in his new bare bedroom that night. He had apparated back to the manor with the pretense of sleeping there. He broke after only 15 minutes, just enough time for him to ache from the loneliness in his chest and grab a change of clothes. He was in an even worse mood than his argument with Granger had put him in. He shoved his Occlumency shields back in place when he heard her muffled voice next door, talking to someone. 

His shields were difficult to keep up, he noticed. He had to focus on them almost as hard as when he had first started learning from Snape. It irritated him to no end knowing how hard he had to fight for privacy in his own mind. But he would not be a vulnerable Hufflepuff to Granger. She would only feel the emotions he let her in on, even if he had to put all his energy into protecting his mind. 

When Pansy and Theo barged into his room, hovering hot plates of food behind them, he wavered between relief and anger. 

“You’ve improved a lot, even since the last time I saw you.”

Draco lifted his head up for that. The two apparently not dead, supposed best friends of his had been chatting noncommittally to him for the past thirty minutes. It annoyed him how they seemed to know what he needed. 

“What are you on about, Nott?”

Theo smiled, seemingly unaffected by Draco’s foul tone. 

“Your Occlumency shields. I bet the Weasley’s downstairs will hit a brick wall when they try to come up for bed.”

Draco grimaced, but pulled back a bit anyways. “You were always shite at Occlumency.”

“Three years ago, sure. But now,” he took a bite of his dinner roll, “I can hold my own.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Did you want to test that out? I bet the Order has much lower standards than the Malfoy’s.”

Theo and Pansy shared a look and both turned to him with malicious smiles. “Well let's put that theory to the test, shall we? My Order versus your Death Eater?”

Draco didn’t flinch. He merely grabbed Theo by the neck and dove into his mind. 

His shields had gotten better. It took Draco seven shoves before he gave in. 

He showed Draco a variety of memories, from the moment Pansy and him had decided to defect, to the many Order meetings and frighteningly enough, funerals he had attended since joining. 

He watched with mild indignation as the two Slytherin’s sat with only each other, looking frightened and alone. With each passing memory the regret seemed to grow in Theo’s expressions. 

He watched Theo’s binding ceremony, watched as he wrapped his arms around the girl who had sneered at him the day before, calling him names and taunting Pansy. Draco tried to back out, but Theo thrust his next memory particularly hard and Draco couldn’t resist. 

It seemed to happen just hours after the binding. Theo was alone on the roof, smoking a muggle cigarette. Draco hardly recognized the area without the expansion of the roof being charmed on it. Apparently this was before they used it as a training ground. 

The door thrust open then and Ginny sauntered through, hair blowing behind her as the wind hit it. She approached Theo slowly with a hand over her chest. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes looking out on the horizon. 

Theo didn’t reply, merely took another drag. He held it in for an obscene amount of time. Ginny sighed. 

“I know it’s not enough, and I’m sorry for that too. If I would have known what you’d been feeling this whole time,” she reached out and put her other hand on his chest, placed exactly where hers was, and he froze. “Then I would have been less inclined to judge and more likely to embrace you as the person you are, the person you presented to us, and not as the person I made you out to be.”

Theo took another puff. “That’s not how the world works though, is it?” He didn’t shake off her hand. 

Ginny shook her head. “But now I know to keep my daft opinions to myself and try and get to know other people before judging them.” She hesitated, mouth open before carrying on. 

“I’ve just sat down and had tea with Pansy.”

Theo jerked his head to ogle at her before schooling his expression into one indifference.

“That must have been lovely, I do hope she complimented the house decor, especially the lovely bint hung in the main room that screams at everyone.”

Ginny pressed her lips together to keep from smiling and Theo shook from repressed laughter. 

“It’s not like we gave you any reason to trust us, really,” he replied after he’s reigned his emotions back in. “We just showed up after years of being on opposite sides. I shouldn’t have been so surprised when you didn’t trust us.”

“I suppose you thought your charm would work it’s magic on us.”

“It’s worked in every other part of my life.” His tone was bitter. 

Ginny sighed and laid her head on his arm. “You’re so much more than what you let people see.” She glanced up at him and Theo looked to her as the tension released from his body. “I want to make sure everyone knows it. I want to help make sure the Order becomes a home to everyone who’s looking for refuge— especially the Slytherins.”

Draco was back in the bedroom, staring at the ground and trying not to think about the waves of emotions in his stomach. That was the thing about memories, they were always swimming with feelings and he always thought that was the hardest part about invading someone’s mind. They couldn’t hide anything. They were vulnerable. Theo has willingly let him feel all of it. 

He gave Theo a tight look, clenching his jaw. “She got all that just from binding to you?” 

Theo raised his eyebrows. “You punched me in the kitchen when I tried to separate you from Granger, yet you’re telling me that conversation is hard to believe?”

Draco locked his eyes on the bedpost to his right. “Thinking I want to be near someone and pretending like I understand them is not the same thing.”

Theo shrugged. “I guess not. You don’t even understand yourself.”

\---

Theo woke Draco the next morning by throwing a bottle of shampoo at his head. 

“Still upset about last night?” Draco grit, rubbing at the bump forming on his forehead. 

“We’re meeting on the roof in half an hour for your first dueling session. Wear appropriate attire.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ve left my dress robes at home, do you think I’ll have time to fetch them?”

“With all the fancy parties you attend on behalf of Tom, it might not be a bad idea to practice in them.”

Draco raised his eyebrows and swung his feet off the side of his bed. “How do you know about those?” 

Everyone knew about the revels. But the parties. Not even all Death Eaters were aware those went on. 

Theo shot a sparkling smile towards him. “I’ve missed you, Drakie. I was sure to keep tabs on you.”

“How many spies does the Order have?”

Theo leant against the doorframe, feigning nonchalance in the way that made Draco want to strangle him. “Does Tom have something to be worried about? Loyalty is so hard to find these days.”

Draco grit his teeth. “If there are others I deserve to know. We could work out a system on the best way to gather intel.” Draco was already working way harder than he originally intended, surely there was a better way to accomplish the Order’s goals. 

Theo gestured to the bottle of shampoo. “You’re down to twenty five minutes now. Better hurry so you have time to eat breakfast.” And with that he was gone. 

Draco threw the plastic to the ground and closed his eyes. He flicked through all the memories that had haunted him the past few days and filed them together. He pushed them back to the darkest recesses of his mind and focused on erecting a strong, metal wall around them. 

When he was satisfied that the wall was sturdy enough to hold, he allowed himself five minutes to meditate. If today held similar surprises to the previous days, he was going to need his focus strong and his emotions checked. 

When finished, Draco checked his watch and began to dress quickly. He made it to the top of the roof— only making two wrong turns in the process— three minutes late.

When he arrived he saw four figures crowded in the furthest corner. He sauntered towards them, not allowing his punctuality to come into question. He suppressed a groan when he saw Longbottom and Pansy were present, along with Ginny and Theo.

“Draco!” Pansy skipped over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He clenched his jaw and kept his arms firmly at his sides. Honestly, he could throw an Avada at her and she would probably still make excuses for his behavior.

Longbottom stood off to the side hovering awkwardly. Draco peeled Pansy off his body and ushered her back in the direction of her partner. Longbottom’s shoulders drooped, the tension leaving his body. Draco nodded politely at him, and he gave a soft smile in return. He looked towards the other pair.

“Theo,” he turned his head slightly. “Weasley.”

Theo glared at him. He sighed, but corrected himself. “Ginny, I meant.” Salazar, was he really this desperate to gain back Theo’s friendship?

“Malfoy.” Ginny’s voice was short, but her eyes were warm enough. He flashed back to Theo’s memory of her standing on this very roof.

“I want to help make sure the Order becomes a home to everyone who’s looking for refuge— especially the Slytherins.”

His eye twitched. Maybe she meant that. Still though, was it any better to be considered a charity case at the hands of a Weasley?

“Sorry I’m late.” He recognized the voice, but Granger’s presence was made most obvious by the pleasant humming in his chest that had begun the moment the squeaky door was thrown open. He reminded himself to stand up straight and pocketed his hands.

“Granger.” He didn’t look at her.

She huffed a breath beside him. Had she run up here?

“Malfoy. Pleasure to see you survived the night.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m sure the entirety of the Order would shut down operations in mourning if I hadn’t.”

“Yes yes Draco, we would hardly know how to cope.” Theo rolled his eyes. “Shall we cut down on the animosity and get down to business?”

Beside him, Granger nodded. As she stepped forward to the front of the group he felt a compulsion to follow her. He resisted, opting to sway on his feet instead. The group gave him odd glances. Granger ignored them all.

“We have an A Team and B Team group here today to help Malfoy get better acquainted with our style of dueling. As discussed previously we will have the two pairs of you demonstrate what exactly this bind is capable of, and then the two of us will face each pair separately. We will finish off with a three way battle, if energy allows us.”

Energy? Draco had spent the past four years climbing the Death Eater ranks at the speed of an owl with an emergency post. He was hardly worried about his stamina.

“Malfoy.” Granger’s voice brought him back to the present. “Pay attention. It’s difficult enough to follow as it is, and I hardly feel like making a stop at the infirmary today.”

“If you think of me as an inadequate partner then I can hardly bear to think how desperate the Order has become to allow me the honor to tarnish the Golden Girl’s reputation.”

Granger raised her eyebrows and turned on him. “It’s hardly eight in the morning, would you really like to start the bickering so early?”

He shrugged and shot her a smirk. “You’ll have to blame Theo, really. He gave me a warm up this morning.”

“If you want—”

“Hermione.”

The pair turned to see four sets of eyes ogling them, with Ginny at the front.

“Shall we get started?”

Granger’s mouth was still opened with the insult poised on her tongue. He could hear it echoing in his mind. She had quite the vocabulary on her. He mentally shot back a lewd response. She turned narrowed eyes on him and he smirked. 

“Looks like I’ll have to be the mature one here,” she bit out, hands clenched into fists. 

“Yes, those images you’re sending of punching me in the face are very adult of you.”

“Neville!” Pansy called out desperately, motioning for him to follow her to the center of the roof. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Longbottom, who was staring open mouthed at the bickering pair, snapped his head to Pansy and nodded. 

Before either could respond or resume their battle of wits internally, there was a loud bang and Malfoy’s head snapped to the culprit, wand drawn. 

He watched in awe as the dueling he had witnessed on his first day was replicated. Spells, hexes and shields were all flying faster than he could keep track of. He heard a giggle to his left and turned to see Pansy smiling with unrelented joy as she sent dangerous spell one after another towards Theo and Ginny, who were firing back with equally damaging magic flying from the tips of their wands. 

“That is quite questionable magic the Order has approved,” Malfoy mused to Granger, who was looking at the display with a quill and parchment in her hands, taking notes. “Reminds me of the Dark Magic the Dark Lord encourages. 

She didn’t move her eyes but her shoulders tensed. “Not quite Dark Magic,” was her response. 

He opened his mouth to push her further, because damn it if she thought her evasive answers would work on him, but suddenly she was gone from his side. His chest ached and his hand lifted to it at the same moment he fought the urge to follow her. 

As Granger approached, the spells came to a halt. The four watched and waited for directions, all breathing heavy and sweaty, but their grins never slipped. 

“Excellent, we’ll take a five minute break and when you return Malfoy and I will have a go against Pansy and Neville.”

No questions or objections were made, just the nodding of heads as the pairs dispersed. Granger stood in place, reading her notes with the quill between her teeth. 

“I figured Potter would be the one in charge.” Her eyes lifted to his briefly, brows raised, but she looked back down as she spoke around her quill. 

“I’m not in charge, Malfoy.” 

“I have a hard time believing that, seeing as you just gave orders and no one questioned them.” He crossed his arms over his chest, challenging her. 

“Seeing as it was a simple request for the people who have just spent the past half hour training to get some water, I hardly see the need for anyone to refute it.” She rolled her eyes and began writing again, crossing things out and adding to her notes. 

“I’ll have to change that.”

Irritation flowed through his tether to her and he smirked. 

“Isn’t life hard enough, Malfoy? We’re in the middle of a war.” She rolled her eyes, disappearing the parchment and quill with a nonverbal spell and no wand. Impressive. 

“I assure you my life of luxury has only increased since my time at Hogwarts ended.”

“Yes, well we can’t all be spoiled brats now, can we?” Her tone was dry and her stature was tense. 

Malfoy shrugged. “Have you given it a shot? I highly recommend it.”

She snorted and walked to the edge of the roof where a pink water bottle sat. 

“Muggleborn, or have you forgotten?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Semantics. Perhaps you just haven’t tried hard enough.”

Before she could respond Pansy and Longbottom were back, wands in hand. 

“Ready?” Longbottom looked nervous, as if he was waiting for one of them to spontaneously combust. Draco wondered if that was possible, and if so how irritating he would have to be to accomplish it. 

Granger nodded towards him and then eyed Draco. 

“A few things to note,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “This bind was created specifically for battling, which means our tether will be strongest in the midst of it. Emotionally and physically, we will be more aware of each other.”

Draco nodded. “And if I get hit by one of those fast flying deadly hexes you allow your friends to throw?”

Hermione smirked. “You won’t.”

“But how—“

“You’ll just have to trust me, Malfoy.” She drew her wand and sauntered past him. 

He paused for a moment, wanting to refute her statement of trust, but thought of his tether humming happily in his chest and knew that he did. 

The realization was unsettling. 

He joined her side awkwardly, drawing his wand out of his pocket. Granger nodded at him and then threw the first jinx. 

Pansy quickly threw up a shield at the same time Longbottom threw back a nasty slicing hex that would kill a man within minutes. Without thinking— without even processing what was happening— Draco cut it down just inches from Granger’s throat and was throwing back a burning spell with all his might. 

Pansy ducked and rolled away from it gracefully, eyebrows raised in surprise, but her smirk remained. 

“Not bad, Malfoy.” She turned to her partner. “Neville, lets go full speed, shall we?”

Draco found himself responding on pure instinct rather than any logic. He didn’t have any time to think properly, only to react. He felt his magic flowing through him quicker than ever, like his first flight on the newest racing broom. He could feel an additional magic, this one a bit slower, more methodical, which allowed him an additional nanosecond to aim his wand properly. 

His spells flew faster and if this were any normal target he was attempting to hit, he knew it’d be dead on every time. No one would stand a chance. 

Granger threw up shields for him if he was in the middle of casting, blocked hexes and through their connection let him know which way he should move. He never questioned it, just followed her command blindly. This would be irritating if she wasn’t responding to him in a similar manner. 

When she signaled for them to stop, he automatically knew even though it wasn’t something they had discussed prior. 

His breathing was heavy and he was sweating profusely. He looked down at his undershirt. It was soaked through. Draco glanced up to see Granger tossing him a water bottle. He caught it and raised his chin in thanks. 

“So,” she began, sipping from her own drink. “How do you feel?”

Exhausted, definitely but above all else he felt amazing. He thought back on the time Blaise and he had snuck into his father’s potion stores and taken some of the pain relief draughts. The result had been a high laughing state that lasted for hours and sent them both into a state of euphoria. He had longed to recreate it, but knew better than to become addicted. 

This feeling was like that, times ten. 

He shrugged. “It’s alright.”

She snorted and shook her head. 

“Though I must say, the battle is impressive. No normal person will ever be able to see any of those spells coming.”

She laughed, eyes brightening for the first time since he’d seen her. “Welcome to the Light side, Malfoy. Looks like you joined just in time.”

\---

Later, when they all sat down to eat dinner, Granger sitting directly next to him— which he pretended he didn’t notice, therefore he didn’t need to say anything about— he looked over as she picked up a green bean with her fingers and chewed on it slowly. 

“I thought the Order didn’t use Dark Magic,” he began, watching as she chewed with methodical precision, despite using her hands like a barbarian. 

“We don’t,” she responded simply. Her eyes stayed trained pointedly on her food. 

He leaned back, arms across his chest. “What would you call this bind then? All those carefully crafted spells you used on the roof?”

She shrugged as she popped another green bean into her mouth, repeating the phrase from earlier that sounded just as ridiculous now as it had then. 

“Not quite Dark Magic.”


	7. Mark of Darks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy update Sunday! It’s past midnight and I really love this chapter so...

Draco was awoken in the middle of the night to his left forearm burning. He sighed, hopped out of bed and began dressing when there was a knock at his door, soft but firm. He walked towards it, threw it open in irritation and glowered down at Granger. 

“You’re leaving.” She looked wide awake, like she hadn’t slept yet. 

“And you’re stalking me.”

She stiffened. “I felt you wake up and I could tell you were moving in here and I just figured…” she trailed off awkwardly. 

“I go when I’m summoned.” He looked her over for a moment. She was still in the same clothes she was wearing at dinner. 

“I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

She nodded. “Don’t use the bind to reach out to me unless it’s important. The more we use it the more—“

“Yes, Granger, I understand.” He waved her off as he stuffed his arms through his black robes. “No need to look at me like I’m a broken child anymore, I don’t want the bind to root anymore than you.”

With that, he apparated away. 

\---

Hermione spent the rest of the night awake, studying the strategies for the upcoming raid next week. Malfoy would be on the opposite side, fighting for the Dark and she was attempting to devise a plan to make fighting on opposite sides as painless as possible for the both of them. 

She rubbed her sleepless eyes and squinted through their dryness, trying to focus on the blurry words in front of her. 

Sleeping had been difficult since Hannah’s death. Trying to get a decent night's rest during war time was already difficult enough, but losing her partner had made it near impossible. She would toss and turn, sleeping for an hour or two at a time before rolling out of bed and beginning her day. 

Needless to say, she accomplished a lot. But she missed sleep. 

She thought things would get easier once she was bonded again. But even with Malfoy next door the ache in her chest still kept her awake, like an annoying flu. As soon as she started to doze it would twinge and jump her awake. The feeling was more frustrating than anything. 

Now with him gone her tether to him was stretched taut and the emptiness burned with a bright intensity. Her hands were constantly rubbing above her breast bone but it did nothing in the department of relief. She supposed she would just have to suffer. 

She contemplated going next door to steal one of his shirts, and even double checked that her Occlumency shields were in place so he couldn’t hear her, but in the end her pride was too large. She wasn’t taking anything he wasn’t offering. It’s not like she needed him. 

On cue, another pang shot through her chest. It wasn’t cause for concern but it did signal Malfoy’s distress. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, concentrating on reigning in all her primal urges that insisted she apparate to his location and save him from whatever discomfort he was suffering. 

She chuckled at the thought of appearing in front of Voldemort. It was such a mad idea that she might even get away with it before anyone had any clue what was happening. 

Of course, Hermione was smarter than that. Plans had to be well thought out and agreed upon by the entirety of the Order Council. 

So she allowed herself twenty minutes to meditate before continuing to draw up her raid plans. 

Distance was the key factor here. The pair of them had to either be as far apart as possible, or as close as possible to allow their magic to work properly. If not, they would constantly be seeking out each other and the distraction could very likely cause one of their deaths. 

Their best bet was to be as close as possible. She wasn’t sure how far apart would be enough for their magical senses to not pick up on each other, and she doubted they would have time to test it before the raid. 

So she focused on the layout of the house they would be attacking, blue prints courtesy of Malfoy. She drew up copious notes, specific enough that Malfoy would roll his eyes. She smirked at the thought. 

When the sun began to rise and her room was flooded with soft pink light, she dragged her stiff muscles out of bed and down the stairs to make coffee. She wasn’t surprised to see Theo and Ginny there as well. 

“I do hope you have an explanation as to why you’re five minutes late.” Theo toasted her with an empty coffee mug. 

Ginny slapped him in the back of the head. “You’re more than capable of making your own coffee you prissy man.”

Theo shuddered. “I’ve no idea how to work any kitchen utensil and last time I tried the safe house nearly burned down.”

Hermione scoffed, grabbing the coffee grinder and filter. She shoved a measuring cup towards Theo and gestured for him to fill it with water from the tap. “Like you didn’t do that on purpose to get out of kitchen duty for the foreseeable future.”

He waved his wand and watched the water slowly trickle from the faucet. “Would you like to test that theory?”

“When the war is over and we no longer have to hide, absolutely,” Ginny claimed. “I feel it through our bind. You’re lying.”

Theo ignored her and turned to Hermione. “Where’s Draco? Or are you two still pretending to be utterly disinterested with each other?”

“For your information,” Hermione began, pouring steaming cups for the three of them, “ _ Malfoy  _ is extremely uninteresting so there’s no need for me to act.”

Theo waved his hand in nonchalance. “Right, of course. And what time will the Queen be over for tea?”

Hermione’s glare would have burned through Theo’s eyes if he hadn’t suddenly found the kitchen cabinets to be of particular interest. 

“He was called away last night.”

Theo’s fist clenched. Ginny stiffened and put a warming hand on his shoulder. He said nothing. 

“It’s not ideal, but it’s something we’re going to have to get comfortable with. We need his intel and because of the Dark Mark he’s unable to abandon his post without dire consequences.”

Theo still wouldn’t look at her. “Did he say how long?”

Hermione shook her head. 

He sighed and picked up his mug, bringing it to his lips before hesitating and setting it back down. 

“I came here three days before I was supposed to get the mark.”

Hermione hesitated. “I remember the day clearly. You said you had no relevant information, but you would fight for the Order.”

He spun the mug absentmindedly. “I didn’t want it. Maybe I wanted some of the glory that Draco was feeling at the time, but when it came down to it I was a coward.”

Ginny scoffed and pulled his hands into her own. “How could you say that when you’ve fought in every raid the Order has commanded you since?”

“I wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed. Sent Pansy here by herself and stood by Draco’s side, waiting for him to be ready.” He paused. “I always knew he’d come around eventually.”

“An entire two years after you and Pansy,” Hermione whispered. “Any number of things could have gone wrong in that time period. You could have died. Pansy might not have stayed here without you.”

“I don’t know,” Ginny began. “Her and Neville really hit it off right at the start.”

Hermione snorted and Theo shook his head, a small smile pulling at his downturned lips. “I truly thought she was going to try and run when you told her who she was most compatible with. I had to hold her down for a good fifteen minutes before I was sure she wouldn’t bolt from the room.” 

Hermione nodded. “Look at them now. I caught them snogging in a corner on the roof after practice yesterday.” She wrinkled her nose. “They didn’t even seem like they were aiming for privacy.”

Theo shrugged, draining his mug and turning to stand. “You know how worked up Pansy gets when her adrenaline is pumping.”

Ginny looked pale, her eyes haunted. “Unfortunately I do.”

The pair shuddered. 

Ginny looked towards Hermione with her eyebrows raised. “You never know, Mione, you might just end up liking your partner as much as Pans.”

“Yes, and werewolves might decide to switch allegiances.” She rolled her eyes. “Anything is possible.”

\---

Hermione jerked awake when she felt his presence. She looked outside her window to see the moon was still high in the sky. It couldn’t be later than two in the morning. 

She threw the covers off her legs and walked to his room, hesitating only a moment before knocking. 

He opened it almost immediately, like he knew she would be there. 

He rolled his eyes, shoulders leaning against the door frame. 

“Of course I knew you’d be there, Granger.” He pointed at his chest. “I could feel your relief flood through me the moment my feet hit these dusty floorboards.”

She wanted to retort, to fight back with the same energy he had, let him know that a battle of wits was something she would  _ always  _ win, but she held back. 

Malfoy used words as weapons. If he was picking an argument, he was hiding something. 

“What happened?” She stepped inside his door for the first time and sat herself in the chair in the corner. He rolled his eyes, but followed her in. 

“Granger, I haven’t slept since I was called away over twenty four hours ago, so if you’ll excuse me—“

“You’ll sleep better if I’m here.”

His body tensed. “I don’t want you here.”

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “What are you hiding, Malfoy?”

“Are you daft? I made an Unbreakable Vow, do you really think I’d break it so early on?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

Malfoy stayed silent, perhaps considering what the best option would be. 

“Romania will be under attack by weeks end.”

Hermione stiffened. “But Tom has made no—“

“Took us by shock as well,” Draco conceded. “But his plan is well thought out and we expect the invasion to be successful. 

Hermione shut her eyes and stuffed her palms into them. “We have no way to contact Romania in time. All owls and floo calls are being monitored. It would take at least a week to get them the message.”

Draco nodded. “This is why I didn’t want to burden you at this time of night. Nothing can be done to prevent it.”

“So sweet of you to worry about me, Malfoy, but I assure you I can handle this information at any time of day.” She stood and began pacing in a small circle that would surely make her dizzy in a few minutes time. She didn’t care. Her mind was racing, planning the next move. She dashed towards the door and Malfoy blocked her. 

“Granger, you can't wake up the entire house over this.”

“Not the entire house, just Harry and Ron.”

“If their bond is anything like ours then that includes the people they’re bound to as well.”

She shrugged and tried to move past him. “The sacrifices we make for war.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back. She huffed in irritation. 

“Malfoy, get off! What do you even care about who I wake up in this house?”

“Because it’s pointless! Look,” he took in a deep breath and walked her over to his bed. “Romania is gone no matter which way you look at it, and even if it wasn’t there was nothing the Order could do to assist them.”

His words were harsh in their truth. The Order was small and had the heart of the battle to fight here in England. They could hardly afford to sacrifice any of their manpower to other countries, especially those that had refused to help them when they reached out all those years ago. 

Still, her heart clenched with anxiety. All those people, going about their lives normally today, with no idea of what was coming. She wondered how many would die, what their families would do without them. She hoped the muggle borns were smart enough to go into hiding, hoped none of them would perish because their prides were too big. 

She thought of the muggle born registry, of her own name listed as Undesirable no. 2, right behind Harry. She’d turn herself in if it meant everyone got to be free. She’d face Voldemort himself, let him turn his wand on her—

“Granger, that’s enough.” 

Malfoy’s voice was harsh and broke through her reverie. She stared at him and stuffed her hands in her lap to stop the shaking. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were squeezed shut. 

“There’s no reason to think like that— to metaphorically kill yourself when it would do nothing to change what’s going to happen.”

So she had been projecting. She cursed to herself. Things had been so much easier with Hannah. For a moment she let her mind wander, mentally cataloging if all these changes were because it was her second bind, or if her bond with Malfoy was really that much stronger. Her fingers itched for a quill and parchment. 

“Romania is gone. It’s unfortunate but there’s nothing you can do to save them.” He glanced up into her eyes and she tried to remember the last time he looked at her without malice. She drew a blank. 

“If you win the war in England then everywhere else becomes free, too. The Order just has to continue their current plan.”

Hermione shook her head and picked at her cuticles. “It’s not good enough. We’re moving at such a slow pace that it could be years before the final battle happens.”

“The advantage of time isn’t a bad strategy. You’re slowly whittling away at our forces. Once this becomes apparent, there will be less people willingly enlisting. And after what I saw yesterday on the roof, there’s no way the majority of Death Eaters will be able to successfully fight.” He grabbed her hand away from her other finger when she drew blood. He set it softly on the bed beside her thigh. “Rushing things could only make the margin for mistakes larger. You’ll have to be patient.”

“The longer things take the more people that die,” she bit out. “It’s a heavy burden to carry.”

Draco rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “There’s not a single bloody Order member that isn’t ready to willingly lay their life down in the name of the Light.”

Hermione huffed out a breath and stood. “That’s part of the problem, isn’t it?” She began pacing again. “Just because people are  _ willing  _ to die doesn’t mean we should just let them.”

“War requires sacrifices,” he countered back. 

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“None of this is right. Deal with it.”

She turned on him, fierce eyes sparkling with anger. 

“Are you truly telling me to just  _ deal  _ with the deaths of innocent people?”

“It’s better than listening to you bitch about the inevitable.”

“None of this would have happened had  _ your  _ ‘Dark Lord’,” she emphasized her statement with air quotes, “not decided that Purebloods ruled the world, and had people as dumb as you not decided to follow him.”

He balked. “Oh, now I’m dumb—“

“You’ve always been dumb—“

“—because I seem to remember I was the one who came to the Order—“

“To save your own arse—“

“—and am willingly giving  _ you  _ information—“

“You’re repeating things you’ve been told. You hardly need a brain for that.”

He paused for a moment and she glanced over at him. Malfoy looked exhausted, truly. She felt bad for barging in on him when he clearly needed rest, only for a moment before he opened his mouth again. 

“If I’m dumb for coming to the Order, then what does that make everyone here?”

“Smarter and better than you because they never had a side to turn on.”

With that she was stomping out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She flinched at the reverberations and could feel people stirring in other rooms to see what the commotion was. She locked her door behind her. 

\---

The next morning when Hermione headed downstairs, utterly exhausted and still in a foul mood, Malfoy was there, eating a bowl of cereal and chatting with Theo. She wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, but somehow they had ended up bickering about milk. She was too tired to properly process what had happened, but she left the kitchen with an empty coffee mug and shaking hands. 

She had briefly considered turning around, completely ignoring whatever had just happened and apologizing for last night, because while she  _ did  _ mean most of what she had said, there was really no reason for her to voice any of it out loud. 

Regardless of his intentions, Malfoy was doing the Order a huge favor and he was risking his life for it. Even if it wasn’t for what she deemed the right reasons, she could hardly fault him for this. Plus, if they didn’t get civil soon then surely one of them would explode into flames. She pulled on her hair, which was practically sizzling with magic. 

By the time she had made up her mind to right this wrong, the ache in her chest had returned and Harry confirmed he was off to Romania, without anytime to say goodbye. Hermione ignored the sting of hurt that she wasn’t made a priority and begged the rational side of herself to take over. But her emotions seemed to rule her life since the binding ceremony and she was once again left angry and glad she hadn’t had a chance to apologize. 

She spent the next twelve hours pretending like she didn’t know who the new Draco Malfoy was. 


	8. Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NQDM just hit 100 kudos, which is super cool... so thank you and here’s a chapter as a thank you
> 
> This was the original idea that inspired this fic. I hope you enjoy it and see the end notes for more details!

Draco stared down at his hands, counting the seconds.

_ Twitch.  _

He grimaced, but continued watching in silence for another 48 seconds before—

_ Twitch. _

He sighed. There was no more denying it at this point. He was literally twitchy from being seperated from Granger. When it had started it earlier, he had chalked it up to the lack of breakfast. As the day continued on, however, it became harder to ignore. He found his mind drifting to Granger, attempting to reach out and check on her through their bind before he came to his senses and pulled back. This would last all of five minutes before the process would repeat.

The twitching was now happening more frequently, and the worst part was that he wasn’t sure the next time he’d be able to stop by and see her.

It had been four days since he had left the safe house after feeling a burning in his Dark Mark. He was being summoned. There was no time to say goodbyes, and seeing as Granger wasn’t in the room, he merely asked Potter to explain.

He was regretting that now, wishing he could have had that last close contact before being sent off to Romania to do the Dark Lord’s bidding. 

He wasn’t given a timeframe on how long he’d be here, though that had been true for all his missions prior to this. It had just never bothered him the way it was currently. 

He cursed and began pacing as he felt himself reaching out to check on her once more. This bloody bind would be the death of him. Attaching himself to anyone was dangerous, something he hadn’t done in years based solely on principle. He needed to focus, needed to keep everyone around him safe. If he didn’t love anyone, then that was less people the Dark Lord was able to hold over him. 

But now he was a leech on the muggleborn, practically feeding on her life force in order to feel even minorly stable. 

He stared at his hands, which were now twitching every 47 seconds. He groaned and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He could only hope this mission would be quick to wrap up. Then he would be given the next few days off and he could go to the Order, get his fix like a bloody addict, and be off to complete the cycle all over again.

If he thought things would be complicated when he sent his original proposition to the Order, he’d had no idea what he was getting into.

\--

Three days later, just a few minutes before his group was to take a PortKey back to the manor, he felt a strong surge bleed out in his chest. He faltered in his walking speed, but seeing the odd glances he got from the Death Eaters around him, quickly righted himself and double checked his Occlumency shields were in place.

The feeling— it wasn’t his. Clearly something had happened to Granger, though he wasn’t able to identify it. Panic flooded his senses, numbing his fingers and blurring his vision. He took a moment to calm himself before exploring it further.

After a few deep breaths, he was able to discern that it wasn’t life threatening. He couldn’t pinpoint how he knew this, but he trusted his instincts. It didn’t do much to stifle his anxiety

He couldn’t go to her right now. It would be another half hour, at least. He would need to go home, grab the things Shacklebolt had requested of him and only then would he be able to apparate over. He thought about apparating first, and then coming back for his things, but logically he knew that was too dangerous. No, even if it pained him he was just going to have to be patient, lest he risk the entire Order.

His fingers were constantly twitching, and to cover this up he had kept his hands in his pockets or clenched in fists at his side. His chest ached unbearably and he fought the urge to rub at it. The arrival of the anxiety only amplified his feelings of unease and he found himself repeatedly counting to sixty, literally counting down the minutes until he could ease himself.

\---

Once at the Manor, Draco slowly made his way to his quarters, careful to not draw any attention to him. When the door was shut however, he flew into a frenzy, gathering all the things he had hidden carefully and preparing to apparate. He had almost completed his leave before he remembered one last thing. He stumbled, grateful he hadn’t splinched himself and hurried to his dresser, where he pulled out what he needed. With a small pop, he was gone.

Once he had apparated to the cabin, and then to Grimmauld, he immediately set out to where he knew he’d find Granger. He could feel her, but she wasn’t in her room or on the training grounds on the roof. His stomach flipped uncomfortably. Anywhere else, at this time of day, didn’t bode well for her. 

He followed his bind, up to the second floor. It took him into a large room that was lined with dozens of beds on each wall. Most of them were empty. He searched before he found Potter, Lovegood, Ginny and Theo surrounded around a bed.

He stormed up to them with an expectant glare. No way was he trusting his voice to speak right now.

Theo glanced up first and he held up a hand, apparently not so sure of Draco after his outburst in the kitchen all those weeks ago.

“She’s fine, Draco. She collapsed up top but we were assured it’s just exhaustion.”

His shoulders drooped slightly, but still he wasn’t satisfied. “Exhaustion? How severe?”

Potter shook his head while fidgeting with his glasses. “She’d said she hadn’t been sleeping well, but this is the first time it's happened.”

“Does no one pay attention to the way this woman runs herself rampant everyday?” His rage was bubbling over, disbelieving that not a single person had noticed her state. “Is there no one to take care of her when I’m not here?”

A heavy tension settled in the room as his words, said out of passion, finally met his ears. “It’s my job, of course,” he said, trying to save face. “Literally written into my magical core, at this point, so wipe that bloody look off your face, Nott.”

Theo pressed his lips together. If he let even a single sound of the laughter he was repressing through, on Salazaar Draco would end him.

Ginny nudged Theo in the ribs harshly. “It’s not funny, Theo. Malfoy’s right, for once.”

All eyes turned on her with shocked expressions. She raised her hands in mock defense. “I’m just as shocked as you all are, but look, he truly has made a point. We all have our binded to take care of us, and we do a great job of it.” She raised her eyes to meet his, and though he could feel the malice and distrust, he also noticed the tentative hope. “Hermione was never good at balancing herself and all her duties. When Malfoy isn’t here, we need to take the responsibility on ourselves.”

Lovegood nodded. “Hermione and Draco have been separated for nearly a week. That’s probably why she hasn’t slept. It’s an awfully longtime to be away from the person you are bound to.” Her eyes met Harry’s and both pairs of bound partners seemed to move closer to one another.

Draco could feel the synchronicity between the pairs and he hated it so much. He hated how two people had become one, how they relied on each other for nearly everything, but most of all he hated the huge feeling of longing that surged through him as he watched them interact. A part of him— a rather large part, if he was being honest— was urging him to go and sit in Granger’s bed— not in the chair by her bed, but literally  _ in  _ her bed— and not leave her until she was conscious, and then he should probably stay by her side after that as well, just in case. 

He hadn’t realized he had moved until he was right by her bed. He couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, not right now.

“Harry, shall we go? It’s date night, after all.” His head snapped up to see Ginny’s hand held out to Potter, who took it with a grin. 

“Right. Luna, I’ll see you later.” He waved goodbye and exited with his girlfriend. Draco was surprised at how natural the two looked. He figured after seeing him and Luna acting all high and mighty together, any relationship outside of that would seem shallow and forced. 

It wasn’t though. The two were clearly fond of each other.

“How do you do that?”

Theo turned back to him, a questioning look on his face.

“You’re all over Ginny, and you with Potter, but you say it’s strictly platonic. You’ve no issue with those two going off and shagging?”

Luna and Theo shared a knowing look, but the dark haired man shook his head before eyeing him curiously. “Do you have feelings for Granger?”

He wrinkled his nose. “No, but I’m not doting over her every second of every day.”

“You’re doting over her now,” Luna pointed out. Draco would have thrown her a dirty look, but he knew she meant no harm. She was merely pointing out what she had observed.

“I’m just here to stop the twitching in my hands. I can’t even bloody write a letter at this point.” He paused. “Once my body calms a bit, I’ll be out of here.” He hated the idea of it, but it was probably for the best.

“You don’t have anything to prove to us, mate.”

“I’m not proving anything,” he bit out, adjusting the pillow under Granger’s head. Her neck was at an odd angle and he’d rather Avada himself than listen to her complain about the pain. “We don’t even like each other.”“Maybe so,” Theo answered, “it doesn’t mean you need to pretend like the bind doesn’t affect you.”

“Fuck off, Nott. I can’t stand your holier than thou wisdom right now.” Draco closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel Granger’s exhaustion now. It was slowly making its way into his body, clouding his mind.

“Alright then.” He looked at Luna, arm extended. “Shall we?”

She nodded and, with a smile that showed her teeth, took it and the pair disappeared out of the room.

Draco groaned loudly. His chest was thrumming and it sent little vibrations through his body, which only increased his drowsy state. He laid his head in his hands, deciding to bask in the feeling for a moment before leaving back to the Manor.

\---

When Hermione awoke, she was laying on her belly with her arms thrown under a soft pillow she didn’t recognize. She looked around, her senses flooding back to her as she tried to identify where she was. There was orange light flooding in through the window, indicating that the sun was setting. She wasn’t sure how she had ended up here, but she recognized the infirmary. There was a pounding in her head as she dragged herself into a sitting position. She tried to lift the blankets off her body, but there was a weight on them. She looked down to see Draco Malfoy, sitting in a chair and his head in his arms and resting on the side of her bed. 

He was asleep, breathing deeply. The sight made her bind thrum. After not seeing her partner for days she was beyond thrilled to have the aching emptiness in her chest filled. She longed to throw her arms around him, but refrained. Instead she reached over and shook him lightly.

As she suspected, he was a light sleeper. His head snapped up and he looked from left to right three times before his eyes settled on her.

“Granger.” His voice was gravelly with sleep. She smiled at him, despite being furious with him prior to this.

“I need to get up.” She tried to move him from her blankets, but he remained firmly planted.

“Malfoy, shove off.”

He shook his head. “You ended up here because of exhaustion.  _ Exhaustion,  _ Granger. You need to rest.”

“I did, just now.” She shook the blanket roughly. “Now move.”

“Don’t make me do it.”

She paused in her movements. “Do what?”

He smirked at her. “You won’t need to find out as long as you stay in bed and get a few more hours of sleep.”

“Fat chance. You just want me to stay here so you can get a few more moments rest.”

He scoffed. “That’s a bold statement to make, considering it’s your exhaustion that has me in this state.”

She gasped, sitting up straighter. “You can feel that?”

“Yes, I felt it the moment you collapsed. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but once I got here and calmed down it washed over me.”

She stayed silent. That wasn’t a good sign when it came to the bind rooting. They shouldn’t be able to feel each other’s physical ailments so clearly if they were successful with staving off. 

“Are you going to stay in bed, or not?”

She pursed her lips, as if in thought. After a moment she shook her head. 

Malfoy shrugged. “You asked for it.” He stood up, shoved her roughly over and climbed into bed next to her.

Her body stiffened and she made to run for it. He grabbed her arm and held her in place.

“Malfoy! What in Godric’s name are you doing?”

He settled underneath the covers and pulled her onto his chest. She fought against him and the overwhelming urge to give in and enjoy the happy humming that was reverberating through her body.

“Using our bind to make sure you get the rest you need. I was on a mission when I was hit with this feeling that something wasn’t right. People gave me looks. It could have gone wrong.”

She swallowed against her dry throat. “I didn’t mean to jeopardize you.”

He pulled on her once more, this time successfully yanking her down to his chest. She was stiff all over.

“Just take care of yourself, Granger. And relax, stop trying to make this weird. The sooner you get your rest, the sooner I can leave this bed and pretend like it never happened.”

She nodded, and tried to relax her body but it wasn’t responding.

“Focus on the bind. It’s vibrating will help you fall back into the sleep I can feel you so desperately need.”

So she did, and after a few minutes, she felt waves of drowsiness washing over her. She could feel Malfoy’s hands in her hair, running his fingers through it. She knew this was not what they agreed on, but she was letting it slide, just this once.

When she woke, hours later, she felt like a new person. Grogginess no longer seemed to flood her brain and she was gloriously warm. She opened her eyes to see daylight filtering in the room, and Malfoy—  _ Malfoy!—  _ spooning her.

She gasped, sitting up quickly before she could even process what she was doing. The act of letting go of him felt like cold water washing over her. He must have felt it too, because he shuddered and jumped out of the bed. He looked around before turning sharply on her.

“What the hell, Granger?”

She hopped out behind him and wrapped her arms around her center, where the happy thrumming was now resolutely silent and still.

“Sorry if seeing you cuddling me in bed was a bit of a shock.”

He blanched. “You wouldn’t rest. I knew that I could use the bind to get you to relax and fall back asleep.”

She was impressed, for a moment before her memories washed over her. Then she turned indignant.

“I assure you Malfoy, I can take care of myself.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry Granger, I haven’t fallen in love with you. This was all against my better instincts, but unfortunately some of my actions seemed to be heavily influenced by this magic you’ve infused in me. This supposedly  _ not  _ Dark Magic.”

She righted her shirt, realizing for the first time she was in her pajama clothes. She wasn’t sure when she’d changed, but she suddenly felt exposed.

“Right then, fair enough.” She paused. “Thank you, I suppose.”

He examined her, probably trying to figure out if he needed to force her back into bed or not. He turned away after a moment, reaching for a backpack and rummaging through it.

“This is for you.” He tossed her something and she caught it midair. She held a green sleak material in her hands. His shirt, she realized. She looked at it closely, flipping it over to see the back. 

“Malfoy, is this your Slytherin Quidditch jersey?”

He threw an evil grin over his shoulder before shrugging. “No more sleepless nights, please. Stuff that under your pillow.”

“Is that what you did with mine?”

He stiffened. “You said you wouldn’t ask.”

“Then don’t answer.”

He nodded, back still toward her. “I don’t plan on it.”

She sighed. “It goes against everything in my nature to take the Quidditch jersey. I think all the Gryffindors in the house will have a cow.

“You don’t have to show them, you know.”

She let out a tinkering laugh. “I assume they’ll feel the presence in the house and just know. What with their obsession with Quidditch and hating Slytherins, I doubt I could slip this one past them.”

He turned then, raising a challenging eyebrow. “You could always return it, then.”

She hesitated. He was appealing to her pride. He wanted to hear her admit that she needed the shirt; that the reason she had struggled with sleep this past week was because of his lack of presence. She ached with the urge to throw the shirt back in his face, but the logical part of her knew how much this would help her, Slytherin jersey or not.

“I think I’ll keep it, see if it doesn’t make a difference.”

He smiled at her, and she could almost believe it was sincere. “Whatever you say, Granger.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head the first thing I saw was Malfoy walking around with Harry and Ron, when suddenly Hermione fainted. He felt it, freaked out and everyone thought it was hilarious because Hermione was always exhausting herself.
> 
> I couldn’t tell you why it evolved into what I wrote, but this is just what flowed into my brain and I don’t often argue with what comes naturally.
> 
> I really liked the idea of Malfoy and Hermione having something that connected them that they couldn’t fight, but also wasn’t based off of romantic intent. This is what I created.


	9. Raidial Active

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy update Sunday! This story has gotten so much love and attention and I can’t thank you all enough for it.  
> I’m a teacher here in Florida, and while this week was supposed to be spring break, every school in Florida now has mandated two weeks off because of the virus. So hopefully I’ll be spending a lot of that time writing!   
> I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!

The day after Hermione was released from the hospital wing, the A, B and D team gathered in the War room to prepare for the raid. Malfoy had informed them that while the take over in Romania had indeed been successful, it had exhausted and severely injured the majority of the Death Eaters that had been assigned.

“How’d you escape unscathed then?”

Hermione stiffened. While Ron’s voice had not been entirely unkind— perhaps a bit accusatory, but nice enough— she was aware how much he disliked having Malfoy in such close proximity to her, especially after he’d walked into her room to see his Slytherin jersey placed carefully onto her bed.

Malfoy didn’t let it bother him, not outwardly, at least. But Hermione could feel his irritation trickling into her mind before he shoved his shields up higher.

He shrugged, moulding his face into a carefully crafted mask. “Must be a bit more skilled than them, then.”

“When would be the best time for us to strike?” Moody was looking over the document Hermione had been working on concerning her and Malfoy fighting on opposite sides while bound. He wasn’t convinced it was a smart idea to let Hermione battle in the raid and she was determined to prove him wrong.

“At night, definitely,” Malfoy began, sitting up straighter and leaning his arms on the table. “Those that aren’t injured will be celebrating the victory. If you wait until one or two in the morning, the majority of the Dark Lord’s forces will be too shit faced to be able to fight back properly.”

Hermione sent a flare of irritation to him and he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but refused to look at her, or correct himself. Though she had no doubts that Malfoy’s switch in loyalties were strictly based on self preservation, she still found terms like “Dark Lord” to be offensive and unnecessary. 

He fired back with an image of him accidentally calling Voldemort Tom— they way they had often referred to him since the Taboo had been put out— and of him being crucio’d until he was senseless. Hermione huffed out a breath but withdrew her emotions behind her Occlumency walls. She supposed he did have a point there.

Everything that was happening, that Malfoy could witness, needed to be kept under the largest and thickest of shields in his mind. Picking up the terms they used and changing his language to fit them would do nothing but cause suspicion and get him injured. And as reluctant as she was to admit it, she did not want to see Malfoy hurt on her account.

“Tonight,” Moody declared, setting the papers down with a flutter. He eyed the group harshly. “Everyone needs to be on the roof at the apparition point at midnight.”

There was a flurry of nodding heads and shuffling papers, but no one stood to leave. There had been no dismissal in his tone and Hermione stiffened as she waited. 

“Malfoy,” he turned to look him in the eye. “We’ll do our best to aim nonlethal hexes at you or make near misses with the spells. Your orders are to stay clear of any Order members. If it comes down to it, if you aren’t quick enough, we will kill you to avoid suspicion.”

Malfoy didn’t seem deterred by the emotionless tone of voice or the harsh words. He merely nodded. 

“I can help confuse things on the other end. It won’t be much, but I’m sure I can delay their arrival by a few minutes.”

“Every second counts.” Harry’s voice was strong, but his hands in his lap, fiddling nervously, were a dead give away. He hated the idea of Malfoy being at risk for the sake of the Order. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. After all Malfoy had done to spite them since the second he’d met Harry, you’d think he could be okay with this specific person finally meeting with his karma. Maybe he really was a saint. 

Moody gave Harry a once over before nodding and standing from the table, everyone else following quickly. He eyed the group dangerously. 

“Everyone better be well rested when we meet up top. It’s going to be a long night.”

Hermione turned towards the door, already dreaming about the extra hours of sleep she had been practically ordered to catch, when someone caught her sleeve. She turned a glare on the person and saw Kingsley, Malfoy and Moody glancing at her expectantly. She sighed, but sat back down. 

“Granger. Malfoy.” Moody’s voice was gruff and the commanding tone had her sitting up straighter automatically. “You’ll be fighting on opposite sides tonight, if this battle plan is anything to go by.” He shook the parchment in his hands. Malfoy said nothing, but his eyebrows raised. 

“I assume that means it has been approved?” Hermione couldn’t help the authoritative tone her voice took on in this room. In here, she was a leader. An equal to Moody in almost all regards save experience. She had worked hard for that right. If Malfoy’s sneer was anything to go by, he didn’t agree.

“It’s an elaborate outline, and the Council appreciated your honest list of pros and cons, even if the cons outweigh the latter.” Kingsley refrained from sounding impressed, but she knew she had outdone herself.

Hermione nodded and forced her hands to stay loose on the table. Moody had been the one to train her on the art of deception, something she was absolute garbage at before. Now, she knew all the signs to check on someone's emotional state. Tensed muscles. Balled fists. Short breaths. Furrowed brows.

Despite the tense atmosphere and the looming fight, all three sat there, loose and expressionless.

The war had changed more than just her. No one was easy to read anymore.

“We decided that all this seems nice in theory. We want to see it in action, test out if it could actually work the way you’ve said.”

Malfoy balked, eyes narrowing at Kingsley. “You’re thinking of approving this?”

Hermione turned a glare on him. “You knew I was submitting this approval, why are you acting surprised now?”

He had schooled his expression back into one of indifference, and his arms were crossed nonchalantly over his chest. She reached out to check his emotions, but his walls were up high. 

“Obviously I assumed Kingsley and the rest of the supposedly experienced aurors to be of more intelligence than this.”

Hermione huffed out a breath of air and stood, putting her hands on her hips. He had pushed back his chair at the same time. “You didn’t think it would get approved?”

“Well why should it? It’s an awful idea.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to meet his eyes. Not for the first time since their binding ceremony, she wished she was taller. It would be harder for him to avoid her blazing gaze if their height difference wasn’t so staggering.

“I need to be out there, fighting. It’s my primary role in the Order.” She was a shite healer, thanks to being an A type. She was more naturally inclined for close contact fighting and strategy planning. She needed to be out on the field, needed to see it for her own eyes, to try and protect anyone she was near.

“You being out there puts both of our lives in far greater danger than if you were to stay here at the safe house.”

She raised her eyebrows, and somehow his averted glance made sense. 

“And why’s that?” Her voice had the hint of a challenge in it. 

He scoffed, but remained silent. She didn’t even try to hide the grin spreading across her face.

“Your magic will be stronger the closer I am.”

“Your close by magic will just be a reminder,” he bit out. “What’s the point in you being there, if not just to stress me out and distract me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “My world doesn’t revolve around you, Malfoy.”

“Well it kind of does, doesn’t it?” He dropped his arms to his hips before running a hand through his hair.

To that, she had nothing to say. He was right, in a way. The reason this bind had been created was for the purpose of battle; creating a whole that came together to be stronger than the individuals. In that aspect, she supposed her world did revolve around him. 

The realization was unwelcome.

“It’s irrelevant,” she insisted. “We have to power through tough times to win the war. This is no different.”

“How am I supposed to appropriately play my part tonight if you’re there?” His tone had a hint of desperation and his eyes were wider than they had been a few moments before. “I’ll be distracted all night, trying to get to you to fight, to make sure no spells are coming at you. You’re used to dueling in a pair. You’re not in a proper place to block all the hexes coming at you. Nobody will have your back tonight.”

She resisted the urge to punch him by taking a few steps backwards. She had found that their bind seemed to let their anger levels rise to unmanageable levels much quicker than they were used to. The anger was blinding— had her shaking and unable to think through the things she was saying before they fell from her lips.

She needed more space from him. This room was too small; Kingsly and Moody were just standing there,  _ watching,  _ like they wouldn’t start throwing spells at each other at any moment. 

She took a cleansing breath, trying to remember the calming techniques she used while being tortured; times when she couldn’t afford to show any true weaknesses. 

“I assure you, I am more than capable of handling myself tonight. You need not worry about my  _ ability. _ ”

He scoffed. “It’s not your ability so much as your heroism.”

“Meaning?”

“The Order is severely outnumbered. The binding was a great idea and it will eventually win you this war, but it doesn’t mean you won’t suffer any casualties tonight.”

“We are aware of the  _ calculated  _ risk, thank you Malfoy,” she bit out. Her idle hands were beginning to clench and she shucked a tie from her wrist and began braiding her hair. 

“Well if one of the casualties is you tonight, then what?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Then you’re rid of me a lot quicker than you originally intended?”

“Don’t be daft, Granger.” His left leg twitched and Hermione recognized his urge to pace. She’d never seen him do it before. She wasn’t sure how she knew what it was, but she was sure.

“If I’m dead then you’ll carry on your mission like you agreed in your promise, until you can create a new Unbreakable Vow following the raid.”

“That’s not the point, you bint.” His voice was loud and his tone held more emotion than he’d let slip in since their school days. “If you die, and I fall in the battle, or if you’re hurt and I seek you out, don’t you think that’ll be more than just a bit obvious?”

“I’m not going to get hurt,” she whispered. The fight had left her, leaving behind exhaustion in its wake.

“It’s too big of a risk.”

“Repress your urges then,” she snapped. “If you can’t control them, I hardly see how that’s my fault.”

His mouth was open, probably with something that would get her blood pumping again, but Moody cut him off with a raised hand.

“We’ll test it out. Up on the roof.”

Hermione turned to him, kissing the extra hours of rest goodbye. “What’re your intentions?”

Moody headed to the door, his large cane making echoing thumps against the wood. “Meet up top in five minutes. You and Malfoy will prove this theory right or wrong. If it goes well, then you’ll be approved for the raid.”

With that, they were out of the door and she was left alone with Malfoy, her fingers twitching with the urge to hurt him.

They stood in silence for a moment more, before his hand was on her back and guiding her out of the room and up the stairs. She spent the trip up wondering how they could go from at each other’s throats to calm and mission driven within minutes.

\---

On the roof, she was met with Ron and Dean along with Moody and Kingsely, who were seated in chairs.

“Heya, Mione.” Ron greeted her with a light fist to her shoulder. She smiled up at him and nodded at Dean. Malfoy stood silently at her side.

“The goal of this is to see if the pair can fight separately without putting the entire Order at risk. Thomas and Weasley will be throwing nonlethal and easily cured jinxes at each of you, and your goal is to learn your instinctual reaction and try to defect from it.”

Hermione nodded and took her place in the middle of the roof, her wand held loosely in her hand.

Ron and Dean stared at each other, seemingly conversing through their bind, before Dean stepped up and joined her.

“I’m going to use a bruising hex, alright? We brought some Essence of Murtlap up, so we’ll be able to heal it quickly.”

Hermione nodded. Bruising hexes, better known as contusion hexes, were normally used to cause severe damage to inner organs. The spell required target accuracy and when they hit were often fatal. The yielder of the spell needed to have complete control of their magic in order to not do severe damage. 

“Get on with it, then.”

Dean cast the spell nonverbally, and as Hermione braced herself for the impact, she found a shield thrown up in front of her. She glared to the side, where Malfoy’s wand was pointed at her.

“Right,” he said dazedly. “Well, good to know that will happen.” He brought his wand back down to his side, pink tinging his cheeks. “Try it again.”

It took four more casts before Malfoy was able to suppress the urge to shield her. She was so surprised he hadn’t done it that it was actually a shock when the blunt force hit her forearm. She let out a curse and Malfoy was at her side, Essence of Murtlap in hand.

“Malfoy,” she hissed out through her teeth. He glanced up at her with a glazed look in his eyes. The pressure from the injury disappeared almost immediately. “You’re not supposed to be running towards me.”

He didn’t say anything, just methodically rubbed in the oil. He stood, headed back to the sidelines and set the bottle back down on the table. 

Hermione sighed, looking toward Dean. “Let’s go again, I suppose.”

This time, Malfoy threw up a shield and she fought the urge to walk over and strangle him.

After two more tries, the hex hit her in her core and she stumbled back two steps. She glanced over at her partner, surprised he wasn’t by her side already. He had taken three steps forward, but was able to stop himself.

She smiled at him and stuck her hand out. He threw her the Murtlap Essence and she applied it quickly, tossing it back and facing Dean. 

“Again.”

He hit her, and when she found Malfoy was still rooted to his spot, she commanded him to repeat the spell. After being hit three more times, Malfoy let out a warning growl and Hermione relented. She walked to the side, limping a bit because of the spell that had hit her calf, and let him dote on her, applying the oil himself while she pretended to not notice his concern.

“How was it?” She whispered the words, hoping the eyes on them would not be able to hear their conversation.

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” he bit out, gently massaging the most painful welt. “None of what just happened means anything. It’s just your stupid bind.”

She would roll her eyes if she hadn’t known from the beginning that he’d react this way. It was fine, truly. She’d just wanted to know what to expect while it was him out there.

“I’m not telling you anything, you’ll have to suffer just like I did.”

She snatched her arm away from him and felt victorious when his fingers chased after her. “Would you mind staying out of my head unless I’ve invited you?”

He threw her a malicious grin as he headed towards the center of the roof, walking backwards. “Sorry Granger, but you’ve given me the invitation to punish you with this bind. Can’t get mad when I take advantage of it.”

Hermione was able to stave off her urges with more ease, much to Malfoy’s displeasure. She had only dashed out there once, and let Ron fire off six stinging hexes in a row before Malfoy stared daggers at her. She laughed, but called Ron off and ran over to her partner, pulling off his robes to rub in the essence.

“Six was a bit unnecessary, don’t you think?” He was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed at the ankles.

She shrugged. “That’s what you get for doubting my plan.”

He looked down at the arm she held in her hands, studying it carefully. “I’m not as good at any of this as you. I don’t trust myself to make the smart decision if your life is in danger.” She opened her mouth to speak but he held up a hand. “And don’t you bloody think it’s because this bond has softened me towards you. You’re still barmy and annoying and it’s amazing we haven’t offed each other yet.” He pulled his arm away and began rolling down his sleeves and redressing. “It just seems that my brain considers you as much a part of me as my own body, so I can’t help but protect you.”

“I understand, Malfoy. But I’m an excellent fighter and tonight I’ll be able to prove that to you, just like you were just able to prove to yourself that you’re capable of letting me get hit without reacting.”

He stood and reached down a hand to help her up. She accepted, pretending to not notice the roughness of it.

“I still don’t like the idea, but I won’t fight you on it any longer.”

She nodded, walking towards the door and off the training ground, leaving the other four on the roof to discuss what they’d just witnessed. It was something they’d never seen, a bound pair actively working to not fight and protect each other.

Once she was at her bedroom door, she turned and leant against it. Malfoy was just a few inches away, standing awkwardly. 

“I’m going to try and get some rest before the raid tonight. When are you heading out?”

He lifted his sleeve and checked his watch. “It’s nearly six in the afternoon. I should probably apparate back to the Manor and prepare. The oldest of the Death Eaters are probably well on their way too drunk already, and I need them to see me so they can’t claim I was never there.”

Hermione nodded, lips pressing together. “So I guess I won’t see you again.”

He shook his head. “I’m hoping I won’t see you tonight, either.”

She scoffed. “Please, you won’t be able to stay away from me.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

His hands were stuffed in his pockets and he was glancing off to the side, down the hallway to where the sun was setting out of the window. He was nervous; she could feel the waves of anxiety pulling at their bind.

“We’ll get through this,” she whispered, fighting the need to grab his hand. “Do you know when you’ll be back here?”

He shook his head, blonde locks falling into his eyes before he pushed them back. “It depends on how severe the losses are tonight. The Dark Lord will not be happy. Expect retaliation.”

“Will you be able to tell me what it is, when you know?”

“If I know. He might not tell me. I’m high up on the chain of command, but I’m not at the top.”

She folded her hands in front of her and stared down at them. “If you’re unable to get away, I think our bind is strong enough that you can communicate using it, even at a great distance.”

He hesitated, mouth opening twice before any words came out. “That’s bad, is it not?”

“Well it’s not exactly like we planned, no.” She picked at her cuticles absentmindedly until he swatted her hand away.

“How is that? All we ever do is fight.”

She opened the door to her room, glancing back at him while she spoke. 

“Maybe fighting is how we bond.” She headed towards her bed, closing her door with a flick of her wand. “See you out there, Malfoy.”


	10. Raided

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter written means another chapter published. 
> 
> WARNING: mind your tags please. This chapter features Hermione with other people besides Draco. The relationship isn’t romantic, doesn’t develop further than this but it is mentioned more in the story. Please don’t tear off my head.

Hermione jumped awake to the sensation of someone plopping down on her bed. She was on her feet, wand in hand and pointed to Fred Weasley’s throat before she could comprehend what was going on. 

He was leant to the side, propped up on one elbow and reading a muggle magazine that had a ‘teen heart throb’ singer plastered on the cover. He didn’t even blink as her wand prodded his jugular. 

“One slicing hex and you’d be dead.” She lowered her arm and pulled self consciously at her night shirt. She wasn’t wearing any pants. 

“I’ve entered your room in the middle of the night enough times to know that you always gather your bearings before attempting to kill someone.” He still hadn’t glanced up from the magazine, flipping through the pages nonchalantly. He made an “oooh” sound as his eyes glazed one of the articles.

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, turning to her dresser in search of proper attire to hide in. 

“What do you want, Fred?”

She still wasn’t facing him, but the gasp of feigned hurt had her envisioning his hand placed on his chest, dramatically. She shook her head as she pulled on a pair of athletic pants. 

“Can’t come to you for a good shag anymore?”

She rolled her eyes, shucking her shirt over her head and pulling on a long sleeved jumper, charmed with protection spells to guard against basic slicing and bruising hexes. 

“You’ve not come here for  _ that  _ in months. Did you and Angelina break up?” She kept her tone casual, but didn’t turn to face him until she was sure her expression was schooled into one of complete indifference. 

Fred smiled, sitting up and leaning his elbows on his knees, head tilted back in arrogance. 

“Jealous, are we?”

Hermione began braiding her hair in lieu of tightening her hands into fists. Fred was too observant. 

“Disappointed, mostly. I guess I’ll have to cancel my dick appointment with George.”

Fred’s eyes narrowed. “I’d know if you were shagging my brother, Hermione. Besides,  _ George  _ is the one dating Angelina.”

Hermione furrowed her brows. “Odd. I never could keep you two separate,” she murmured before turning into her bathroom. 

Fred followed her. She rolled her eyes again, making sure his gaze caught it in the mirror. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here again?”

“You’re here for a shag, Fred.” She opened the cabinet and reached for her toothbrush. 

“Impossible,” he concluded. “We haven’t shagged in months.”

Hermione turned the sink on. “We haven’t had a raid this dangerous in months.”

“So?”

“So,” she began, wetting the toothbrush before sticking it in her mouth, “you always come for sex right before we leave for life threatening a raid.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I am not that easily read.”

“You are. You’re looking death in the face right now and realizing you’ve been avoiding all those you love in the hopes of distancing yourself in case they die, that way it hurts a bit less. You now know that’s foolish and futile. You’re seeking intimacy in its most potent form.” She spit into the sink.

“Interesting,” he mused, leaning against the door and crossing his feet. “Why do I choose you, then?”

Hermione pursed her lips and dried her hand on the towel hanging on the rack. “I’ve yet to figure that out.”

Fred shrugged. “Are you in, then?”

She hesitated, checking her watch, hoping there wasn’t enough time. There was. 

“You’ll feel guilty after. You always do.”

Fred raised his eyebrows, a sad smile pulling at the edge of his lips. “You don’t?”

She walked past him, already pulling her shirt over her head. “We’ve got twenty minutes.”

\---

After, while they’re redressing in a blur of limbs and fabric, rushing because while there was plenty of time for the first orgasm, the second one— the one Fred  _ always  _ insisted on— had to be squeezed out of her in a haze of euphoria and adrenaline, he asked her the one question she had always been able to avoid.

“Why do you always say yes?”

She was casting charms on his neck and chest to cover the love bites. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve established why I come and seek you out. But this thing we do, it’s so unlike you.” He ran his hands through her now loose hair, attempting to tame the mussed curls. 

She turned away, walking swiftly towards the door. “Maybe I need this as much as you do.” She reached for the handle. 

“For the same reasons?”

She paused. Doesn’t say a word, just threw a desperate glance over her shoulder. She was pleading with him. 

He pressed his lips together and walked slowly past her. She could practically feel the guilt radiating off of him. It always hits him late. 

She doesn’t need to say it out loud. Her answer bounces off her tousled sheets and his scratched back. Malfoy’s eyes flashed before her. Ron’s red hair. Harry’s crooked glasses. Theo’s gruesome jokes. It echoed loudly— so deafening that she slams the door shut on her way out. 

_ For the same reasons. _

\---

When the pair reached the roof, everyone else was gathered and discussing battle plans. Fred broke off from her side and went to stand by George. Ron patted him on the back in the form of a greeting. Fred gave a soft smile, but averted his eyes. 

The guilt brewed in her stomach, bubbling and overflowing as she watched the brother’s relationship splinter right before her. A chasm that was never there before— in the form of Ron’s confused stare— all thanks to her. 

Ron would never forgive Fred. It would be a betrayal to the umpteenth degree. When he turned to her, all the warmth and happiness he could muster pasted on his face, she let him pull her into a spine crushing hug and choked down her guilt, for the sake of him. 

Now wasn’t the time. It probably never would be. 

When Ron moved to stand by Dean, Hermione was left to her own devices. Everyone else was with their bound partner, going over strategy, while she was alone. 

Malfoy was anxious. She could feel his Occlumency walls standing strong and hard, but his nervous energy overflowed off the top and flowed into their bind. It made her hands tremble and she stuffed them behind her back to try and ease the sensation. 

Kingsley appeared at the head of the group, announcing it was two minutes until midnight. He passed out copies of a photo of the building they were apparating to. It was an unfamiliar one— a new hideout. 

The idea was to take down as many Death Eaters as possible tonight. They were weakened and it was the perfect chance to catch Voldemort off guard. 

“No Unforgivables,” Shackelbolt declared, but didn’t specify any further. These days, those were the only spells that were truly off limits. Anything else was fair game, as long as it could be properly justified. 

Not quite Dark Magic. 

Moody raised his wand at the stroke of midnight, and as Hermione turned on the spot she could hear the resounding crack as dozens of people apparated at once. 

When she landed, her feet were soaked in water. She looked down to see that she was standing thigh deep in a small lake. Around her she could hear the sloshing as other Order members crept through the tall grass towards the decrepit building that was alive with noise. 

She could feel Malfoy’s presence here. Her bind thrummed with the closeness of him. It made her throat go dry and she bit back a cough. 

As always, Harry was the first one to cast a spell. His patronus lit up the sky, flying around the group before scurrying off into the woods. The rest of the Order followed his lead, until the sky was alight with their animals, all flying to counteract the presence of the dementors. 

Everything moved quickly after that. 

Before long, the house was on fire and Hermione found herself battling three Death Eaters at once, while they laughed and slurred out insults at her. 

“Look at this, it’s  _ the mudblood,”  _ the tall one, as she had taken to calling him, tripped over his own feet and threw a sloppy cruciatus her way. She dodged it easily and followed up with a contusion hex, aiming for his chest. She turned away as he fell into the water. 

Thank Merlin they were all plastered, or this might have taken longer. 

The other two— the short one and the skinny one— let their Slytherin self-preservation shine through and began running in the opposite direction. She shot two jelly legs jinxes at them and didn’t stay to watch the rest. The water was too deep. If they couldn’t stand, they couldn’t breathe. 

Her mind was whirring with thoughts of Malfoy and it was so  _ distracting.  _ She didn’t have time to be worried about anyone but herself as hexes, jinxes and Unforgivables flew around her in fast flashes. She was running towards the house now, because that’s where Malfoy would be. She couldn’t fight the compulsion to be close to him anymore. 

She shot down over a dozen Death Eaters on her way. She didn’t even glance at some of them. A part of her— the most human part— reminded her that she was killing these people. Some of them died slowly, too. She took that thought and pushed it behind the highest and thickest of her shields. Now was not the time. 

Thick smoke billowed around her and the entire frame swayed dangerously. It wouldn’t be standing for much longer, but still her feet propelled her forward, forcing her to enter the death trap. 

There were several other Order members inside. As well as over a dozen Death Eaters. The higher profile ones seemed to have taken shelter in the building. It was large, containing at least three floors from what she could see from the entrance. 

Judging by the danger of the situation, it couldn’t be a coincidence. They were hiding something. Hermione was going to find out why. 

She began climbing the stairs, casting an air cleansing charm around herself as the cough spasms started. Malfoy was upstairs, and she suspected the answer to all this was, as well. 

Two figures came barreling down towards her, and she stowed her wand, dodged three killing curses and planted her feet firmly on the fifth step from the top. As the first figure came at her, she raised her leg and used all her force to kick out at the body. It fell back, and Hermione shoved the body with all her might into the railing. The weak wood gave way and the faceless man fell victim to the flames below. 

The other man continued to throw hexes, and for a brief moment a cruciatus filled with so much hatred grazed her arm and she felt blinding pain. She focused all her energy on staying aware of her surroundings and thrashed out, her fist making contact with the man’s nose. He stepped backwards, tripping on the stairs and it was all the chance she needed. 

“You filthy  _ bitch,”  _ he spat. 

Hermione merely shrugged before kicking him in the groin and shoving him off the side as well. 

At the top, she was met with three different doors. She headed left, paused, and then turned and doubled back towards the right. 

She threw open the door and was met with Draco Malfoy’s wand pointed at her chest. He couldn’t have been surprised, must have known where she was headed, but still his shoulders stiffened. 

“Draco, why don’t you invite our guest in?”

And suddenly all of Malfoy’s apprehension and nervousness she’d felt since waking up made sense. 

Because off to the side, with a vicious grin and evil eyes, stood Lucius Malfoy. 

Hermione’s wand hand was hanging at her side and her eyes were glued on the man. No, they were glued on the delicate box in his hand. 

It was grey, with intricate swirls etched into it. It looked important. She reached out to Malfoy, but he remained blank.

Lucius raised his wand, quicker than she thought possible and suddenly a green curse was flying at her. Malfoy was poised, ready to deflect but she was quicker. She threw him a dirty look, gritting her teeth before firing a stinging hex at him. He didn’t dodge, but the pain seemed to ease him out of his trance. 

He fired back with the Cruciatus. 

Oh, she was going to  _ kill  _ him later. 

“Dark Magic,” she bit out, “will taint your soul. I hope there’s nothing  _ important  _ in there.”

Malfoy sneered. “Nothing important, though there is something rather annoying buzzing around. I’m hoping the increase in Unforgivables will kill it.”

“If that doesn’t, then I surely will.” She fired five hexes in a row, but was dismayed to see his dueling ability was actually something to brag about. 

She shook herself and turned back to Lucius. Her feet beneath her were beginning to burn as the flames below licked at the floorboards. She needed to complete this quickly, and a pissing contest with Malfoy could be rescheduled. 

Lucius was standing with his arms crossed, apparently content to be on the sidelines and watch his son claim all the glory of torturing and killing the Golden Girl. 

“Miss Granger, you’ll have to forgive my son. The youth are so rude.”

She fired a jinx at him and her  _ protego  _ was barely thrown up in time to block the retaliating Avada from hitting her square in the chest. 

They engaged in battle for a while longer, Lucius casting with all his might and Malfoy throwing half hearted spells at the appropriate intervals, enough to keep Lucius from becoming suspicious. 

Dueling without Malfoy at her side felt like an open wound, festering and slowly killing her. Every spell being dragged from her wand ached and her magic was being drained at a far faster rate than normal. She was breathing heavily, sweating through her shirt. 

Malfoy’s panic was rising. She could feel it building in her chest and stretching to her appendages, leaving her hands and knees shaking. 

Lucius was only growing stronger and more confident. She had stopped playing the offensive completely now, left to only defensive magic that threw her back to the Battle of Hogwarts, back when they had been in denial about what they needed to do to survive. 

She was hit with a spell she didn’t recognize, one that caused a giant welt to break out on her forearm. She hissed through her teeth, and was too distracted to block the next spell, which had a bruise blossoming on her collarbone. The pressure built and built until the bone cracked. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She was too used to torture. Too used to the practice of silencing herself. 

There was a thud as Lucius fell to the ground. She looked up to see Malfoy’s wand pointed at him, his lips pressed together. 

“How—“

“You stupid bint, why would you come up here?”

He stormed over to her, shaking her violently. She grunted as the sensation traveled to her injuries. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed pulling tricks like that.” She attempted to pull her arms out of his grasp, but his fingers tightened. Her body ached so deeply, vision going fuzzy at the edges. 

“You were going to be dead if I didn’t intervene—“

“I’ve pulled myself out of worse—“

“Practically have a death wish—“

“Would never let the likes of  _ Lucius  _ take my life—“

The house groaned dangerously. They stopped bickering and listened as crashes happened around them. Their time was up. The house was surrendering to the flames. 

Hermione wrenched herself from his grip and ran towards the unconscious figure on the ground. She snatched the box out of his hand and turned towards the door, prepared to run through the flames towards safety. 

“Granger.”

She turned. Malfoy had his father’s arm around his neck. His face was a mask and his shields were solid. 

“I’ll take care of Lucius.”

She nodded, then turned to scamper down what remained of the stairs. 

The flames were unbearable. She choked on them, unable to cast a charm strong enough to prevent herself from doing so. The stairs were rickety and she fell through them twice, hot splinters entering her legs with painful precision before she made it to the bottom. 

There were no other voices in the house as she ran out of the front door. On the lawn, she saw scattered bodies and she couldn’t find it in herself to look down and check for any Order members. She ran past all of them, back towards the lake where she knew the anti-apparition wards ended. There were no other standing bodies left, and she knew she had stayed longer than they had agreed upon. 

Once she reached the end, she turned and with a nauseating pull she was thrown into the chaos of Grimmauld place. People were screaming, blood was smeared on the walls and bodies were lying unconscious on the carpet. 

She searched for Ron, Harry or Ginny. Theo, Neville or Pansy. Luna or Dean or Seamus. Anyone that could inform her of what had happened. Who had died. The good news or bad news or—

She ran into Ginny on the stairs. She was running down them, blankets stacked in her arms and tears running steadily down her cheeks. 

Hermione tried to stop her, arms reaching out for her elbows to slow her down, but she shook her off harshly and with a growl. 

“Ginny!” Hermione called after her. Her stomach was twisting painfully. 

Ginny never cried. Ginny was tougher than anyone here, emotions always kept behind closed doors unless she was making a joke or letting her easy to rise temper shine through. 

She caught up with her in an instant. 

“Ginny, what’s happened?”

“It’s Theo,” she choked out. 

“Is he okay? Has he—“ she couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud. She was thrown back to the moment Hannah died, sitting on the floor outside of their shared room for days, feeling absolutely gutted. 

Ginny shook her head. Relief flooded through Hermione’s veins. 

They entered the living room, which was currently being used as a makeshift infirmary. Ginny headed towards a cot that had a large group surrounded by it. 

She saw the faces, and counted each head three times before she let herself be sure. 

They were all there. No one had died. 

She finally let her eyes fall to Theo. He was bleeding profusely out of his neck. Hermione’s breathing stuttered 

“What happened?” Her voice wasn’t above a whisper, but all eyes turned to meet hers. 

“Werewolf,” Ginny murmured, working to staunch the bleeding. Her shirt was soaked through with the glimmering red substance. 

Her eyes met Hermione’s. 

“Theo was bitten by a werewolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been DYING to get this chapter out. Theo being bit was always apart of the story. I’m really excited to share my developments with you guys on this part of the plot.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Your comments have been so kind <3


	11. Bane of Wolf

Seven days. 

There were seven days before the next full moon. 

Brewing wolfsbane took at least twenty one days, if the potions master was skilled enough. Which, Snape probably was, but the problem that kept spinning around her mind, with no solution making itself known, was that Snape wasn’t around enough to attend to such a tricky potion. 

When Harry entered her room, she was sitting crossed legged with a quill between her teeth and a ballpoint pen tapping idly against her knee. She didn’t glance up from the parchment she was working on. 

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Doesn’t what hurt?” She spoke around the quill. 

He pointed to her torn leggings. “You’re bleeding profusely onto your blanket.”

Hermione glanced down. It was just a few hours after she had returned and there hadn’t been a spare moment to change. They needed to collect ingredients and begin the wolfsbane as soon as possible, which meant she would have to head out tonight, if they couldn’t find anyone else to go in her place. 

She capped her pen and stood up, heading to her wardrobe for a change of clothes. 

“You’ll cover for me, won’t you?”

Harry slammed the door she was attempting to open shut. “You’re not going anywhere, Hermione. Ginny’s a mess downstairs and Luna’s holding it together with a fake smile and poorly constructed Occlumency shields, but I can feel her agony. They need you.”

“Harry, if we don’t get started on this wolfsbane then we have at  _ least  _ two full moons where we’ll need to deal with a newly transformed werewolf with no drugs to help him cope.” She tugged on the handle but he refused to budge. The idea of stomping her foot crossed her mind, and she seriously considered it before writing it off as too childish. She punched him in the arm instead. He flinched. 

“One night isn’t going to make a difference.” he bit out, rubbing his arm gingerly. “Besides there are plenty of uninjured members that would be willing to collect the needed ingredients, after a good night's rest.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows and pulled roughly at his arm, smirking in victory when air hissed through his teeth. 

“Seems to me like I’m not the only one with unhealed injuries.” She shoved her door open once more, snatching her grey sweatpants out and flinching when Malfoy’s Slytherin jersey dropped to the floor. 

Harry sighed, picking it up and fisting it into a ball. “Blimey, Hermione. Slytherin, really?”

She turned up her nose to hide the blush from her cheeks. “Honestly Harry, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Malfoy just keeps a few things in my room.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “For what purpose?”

“Does he need one?” she asked, walking towards the bathroom. “Anything to annoy me seems to be reason enough.”

He reached out for her before she could shut the door, and in the yellow light of the bathroom she could see the shimmering blood still seeping from a deep wound on his forearm.

“I’m sure you won’t help Luna’s mental state by passing out from blood loss.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head, grip remaining firm. “Luna’s in pieces because her boyfriend is unconscious and  _ someone  _ will have to break the werewolf news to him.”

Hermione, sensing that Harry really wouldn’t let her change into her clean clothes without first getting healed, turned to exit her bedroom. “She should leave Ginny to that.”

Harry followed, his footsteps clonking behind her. He really was exhausted. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through. His girlfriend and his partner were both suffering right now. She tried not to think about her own bind, silent and unmoving. 

Radio silence from Malfoy. 

“You couldn’t pry Ginny away from Theo’s side right now, but Luna wants to be there when he wakes as well. Wants to be the one to tell him.”

Hermione nodded. “That’s a huge responsibility. He might not handle it well coming from anyone but Ginny.”

Harry sighed, stopping in the hall to lean against the wall and squeeze his eyes shut. He swayed precariously and Hermione reached out to right him. Her biggest goal at the moment was to trick him into the hospital wing. 

“These bonds are so complicated. Luna and Theo are in love and normally, she would be the one he would turn to.” He paused, mouth open, considering his words. “I imagine it’s hard in times like these, when that’s not the case.”

“Theo loves Luna.”

“Yes, and I love Ginny. That has nothing to do with the way our binds make us turn towards each other before our significant others. The way Ginny won’t stop sobbing and looking for comfort in the form of Theo’s unconscious body, and Luna wanting to follow me to come look for you as opposed to staying by his side.”

Hermione flinched. Side effects, they’d called them. The truth was they were life altering events. Things would never be the same, these relationships would never follow normal standards. It would always be the four of them, wrapped up with each other’s bound partner, tip-toeing the line of too close, without ever acknowledging that the other has crossed it. 

“The bind can’t create anything that isn’t there.”

“Not now, Hermione, okay?” His tone was gentle and his eyes were soft, but the bite was still there, hidden behind years of tired, unwon arguments. “I know I’m right where I’m supposed to be, with  _ who  _ I want to be with. But in times like these I just can’t help but think about how it could have been— how it should be. Ginny in my arms as we wait restlessly for Theo to wake up, and Luna sitting by his bedside, fussing at him every time he stirs.”

He pushed off the wall and began walking again, this time at a much slower pace. “I can’t say I’m jealous about any of this, and the part that makes me so angry is that I don’t even  _ mind.  _ I ache from being away from Luna when she’s in so much pain, and I understand why Ginny is so inconsolable right now. If that were Luna—“ he shook his head. 

“I’m okay with the order of things, and I don’t think I should be.”

Hermione walked in silence for a while longer, listening to the thumping of her own heart. She understood what Harry was saying. As wrong as the bind was— as monstrous as it was to have these options of who to love and in what order taken away from them— they would never choose to change it. Harry didn’t voice it out loud, but she knew. 

It occurred to her that this problem was not isolated solely to Harry. 

Anyone bound that tried to have a relationship— romantic or platonic— would always come second to the person they were bound to. 

That meant that Draco Malfoy had now forcibly and  _ intrusively  _ become the most important person in her life. 

She hated him for it. Hated herself because she knew all of this, and she still made the decision. One look at Harry and she knew they were thinking the same thing. 

They sacrificed choice the minute they joined the Order. 

\---

It turned out Seamus and Dean were mostly uninjured and ready to get out of the safe house. Dean always got antsy in the days following a raid, when injuries were high and blood seemed to seep from the walls, and Seamus claimed he missed his best mate. Hermione still thought he was disappointed they weren’t deemed a strong enough match to be bound and was jealous that he was left without a dueling partner as of yet. 

They volunteered to collect the supplies, and just minutes after Hermione handed them the list with her choppy handwriting scrawled across it, they were gone. 

She joined Harry back in the living room after thirty talk, where Theo hadn’t yet been moved. He was unconscious, but stable, chest rising and falling steadily and peacefully. It was hypnotizing and the rhythm put Hermione in a trance, until she was leaning against the arm of the couch with her eyes closed. 

She jumped up when Ron plopped down beside her. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered, pulling her legs into his lap. 

It was heading towards mid afternoon, but the battle had raged late into the night and most people were just now making it to bed. With the curtains drawn and room darkening charms placed on them, it didn’t matter either way. She could hardly see his silhouette sitting just a few inches away from her. 

She lifted her head, squinting through the darkness, to see that the others— Neville and Pansy, Luna and Harry and Ginny— were sprawled carefully around Theo, asleep. 

She let out a gasp as Ron’s hands ran over her legs. 

“You should have come to the infirmary right away. These are already starting to get infected.” There was a salve in his hands and he used wandless magic to pluck the splinters from the blistering burns in her legs. She had forgotten all about them, but the pain came rushing back. She squeezed her eyes shut and held back her moans of pain. It was good practice for her. 

“There were a lot of injuries tonight. I didn’t want to bother anyone over something so menial.”

Ron let out a puff of air as he reached for his wand. “This isn’t menial, Hermione. You need to prioritize your health. Besides, you could always come and see me.”

Ron— who was D.4, a strategist through and through— also doubled as extra hands when the injuries were high and healer energy was low. He wasn’t trained in any complicated potions or spells, but as his magical core showed, he had a knack for it. He caught on easily and was able to take the less serious injuries away from the more experienced healers. He always showed up to find Harry and Hermione afterwards, if not  _ on  _ the battlefield, to make sure they were taking care of their wounds. 

“I didn’t see you in the fight.” Her attempt at conversation was only to soothe her guilt ridden mind from the events that had transpired earlier that day. Her stomach roiled as he massaged the salve into her sore legs. 

“I was there, but I was towards the back of the A team. Dean and I never made it to the house, but we took down quite a few Death Eaters in that muddy water.”

It was silent for a while before Ron spoke again. “These are obviously burns, but how did you get so many splinters?”

“I was on the second floor when the house started falling apart. I fell through the stairs.”

He snorted. “That’s typical of you.”

“I found something. A jewelry box. Lucius and Malfoy were guarding it.”

He turned his light eyes on her, a spark of curiosity and hope flashing in them. “Do you think it’s important?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “My hopes aren’t high. There was no strong magical trace associated with it when we tested it, not like with the horcruxes. It’s possible he’s baited us once again.”

“Surely Malfoy would know.” Ron’s tone was impeccably indifferent. 

“I checked his mind and there was nothing there. Seems even the higher ups aren’t privy to all Tom’s inner machinations.”

“We’ll just have to keep trying then.” His tone was falsely bright as he patted her legs and lifted from the couch. “I’m going to go check on Fred and George. Fred broke his leg, and it was the first time I healed any large bones like that. Want to make sure it’s setting correctly. Do you want to come with me?” 

He eyed the scene before him, which, when she thought about it, was a particularly grim sight. Theo was still lightly bleeding from his neck and the carpet below was soaked through with it, as were Ginny’s clothes. She hadn’t left Theo’s side since grabbing the blankets earlier and when Harry had urged her to change a few hours ago, she had snapped at him, and they hadn’t spoken since, but Harry’s back was still pressed against her chest and their hands were tangled at the crown of her hair. 

Her friends, whom she regarded as some of the bravest and most fierce witches and wizards the world has ever seen, looked fragile for the first time in years, asleep and with worry pulsating off of them. Theo, the most charming man she knew would never be the same. Lupin’s boggart flashed before her, his fear when the full moon came out that fretful night back in third year, the way he looked tired for  _ days  _ after a full transformation— she tried to picture it with Theo’s demeanor, but her heart contracted and she pushed back the sight. 

She didn’t particularly want to stay and stare at the utter  _ brokenness  _ of this whole situation, but walking with Ron to face Fred set off a new pang of pain and she didn’t have the strength to Occlude  _ that  _ entire situation. 

She shook her head. “Give Fred and George my best.” Or George and Fred. The order didn’t particularly matter, she told herself. 

He was off with a wave and Hermione was once again left alone with her thoughts. 

She thought about reaching out to Malfoy, but knew it was the wrong time. He could be with Voldemort right now, could be watching him torture or kill, or maybe Malfoy was the one doing—

She had to stop. Had to do something to take her mind off the thoughts swirling in her head. 

A Dreamless Sleep vial landed in her lap. She looked at the doorway just in time to see Ron’s red jumper disappearing behind the door. 

She would never stop owing him. 

\---

The first sound she heard when she jumped awake were screams.

Agonizing, throat burning screams. She was so tired; so disoriented that she looked back and forth— from the door on her right to the window on her left— three times before her eyes fell on the writhing body on the floor.

Theo was stretched out on the carpet, spine curving at an unnatural angle while several hands attempted to pin him in place. Distantly she heard sobs, but her mind was focused on anything she could do to reduce his pain level.

She had heard, and read, of course, about the pain a werewolf bite would cause a human. As the virus flooded through the veins, the person’s body temperature would soar to worrying degrees. Their body would normally go through an unnaturally quick growth spurt, height growing by several inches in a matter of days. The worst, of course, would be the intrusiveness of the wolf.

In some studies she read, the person wasn’t strong enough. They weren’t able to fight the wolf and it would take over fully, not just on full moon nights.

She never thought that would be Theo. She watched as his eyes dilated, the iris color changing from his dark blue to an unnatural yellow.

“He’s fighting it.” She moved to join her friends, instead choosing to run soothing fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to calm him.

“He’s losing.” Ginny looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. Hermione could hear the rattle in her chest. She’d been crying this whole time, she realized. It was her sobs she’d been hearing.

“What can we do?” Luna still looked calm outwardly, but the way Harry twitched nervously to her right let her know that she was crumbling inside. The three of them were barely holding it together. Her eyes drifted over to Pansy and Neville, who were holding down Theo’s thrashing legs. Neither of them gave anything away with their expressions, eyes cast down to the man in front of them.

“He’s dying, I can feel it.” Ginny’s hand flew to her chest and knotted in her shirt. She dropped to the ground with a loud thud and curled into a tight ball next to her partner. 

Their bind was deep, as deep as it could possibly go. If Theo died, then…

“We need to get him into a bathtub filled with ice cold water.” She eyed Pansy, whose chest was now heaving as her head flicked back and forth between the two bodies on the ground. “You and Neville go set up the bathtub. We’ll work on getting Theo ready. His body temperature is too high.”

It was chaotic, and if Hermione was being wholly honest with herself, she thrived on it. Everyone looked to her for directions and she gave them willingly, barely thinking before the commands fell from her lips. Being the only person there with a steady wand, she levitated Theo up the stairs and into the bathroom. It was filled with cold water and there was a conjured bucket of ice sitting next to the toilet. She slowly lowered him in and added the cubes handful by handful, until her palm was numb and Theo’s thrashing had turned into a twitch.

Harry had carried Ginny up, still unconscious. His hands were shaking and his magic was thrumming wildly. It would be too much of a risk to ask him for any help, so he sat off to the side with Ginny curled into his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him. Luna was by his side, hand in his and watching Theo closely. 

When things seemed to be returning to a closer state of what was now considered normal, Hermione sat back on her heels. Pansy was beside her, slowly massaging Theo’s fingers and hands to ease the tremble.

“That was close,” she muttered under her breath, reaching out and plopping his other arm out of the water. Hermione nodded in assent.

“We’ll have to keep an eye on him until he’s fully awake and lucid. This fight for dominance in his body could take days.”

Pansy lips pressed together, gaze still on the tub. “What do we do if he loses? It’s not just his life at risk here.”

Hermione was thrown back into her Hogwarts days suddenly, enduring Pansy’s relentless assault of cruel words and hexes. Pansy was the most selfish person in the world, she used to think.

She almost laughed. War could change just about anything.

“We can’t think like that. We have to push him through it.” She licked her lips. “Theo’s strong. He’ll make it. I think if we can get Ginny’s morale up, it will help. All this anguish and lack of rest, it’s not good for him. All that is transferring through their bind.”

Pansy’s nimble fingers traveled up Theo’s arm in soothing circles. Even in his unconscious state, Hermione could tell he was relaxing. “Have we even considered that maybe Theo wouldn’t want this?”

Hermione stiffened and busied herself with disappearing the water on the ground. “What do you suppose we do, then?”

“We tell him to suck it up and enjoy his newly inherited height.” 

Hermione giggled, feeling light for the first time in what felt like years. “He’s got to be at least 6’5 now.”

Pansy laughed back, and  _ just when  _ things were seeming like they’d get back on track, Malfoy appeared in the doorway. 

“The fuck is going on here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, REALLY hate Ron bashing. I could probably write an entire essay on how (although I don’t ship ronmione) he could be completely worthy of her affections and she could choose him without settling and he doesn’t deserve the reputation he gets in most Dramione fanfics. I think, most of the time, it’s lazy writing that causes people to make Ron the bad guy in order to free Hermione up for Draco. But I like to think that’s not the case. I rather believe Hermione can accept her and Ron’s attempts at romance (which will be addressed in NQDM) as what they are and move forward.  
> Anyways, thanks for coming to my Ron Weasley is Not an Asshole Ted Talk.  
> Your comments are so sweet and motivate me to write. I’m currently on chapter 21 and am writing an VERY emotionally draining scene and could use some positive words!  
> Also, come talk to me about NQDM on tumblr. My asks are always open and I’m dying to answer questions  
> @hiccupfound


	12. Big Bad Argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy update Sunday!

Hermione hadn’t thought about how Malfoy would react. 

She hadn’t considered that he would begin yelling, or that it would wake Ginny up. She hadn’t envisioned him turning to the scared girl on the floor, screaming that this was her fault. She hadn’t thought ahead as much as she wished, and now she was watching the scene unfold, frozen in place by the sheer strength of Malfoy’s rage flowing to her. 

“Isn’t the whole point of this bloody bind that you’d be able to keep each other safe?”

“Did you expect me to fight off a werewolf with my bare hands? I was a bit busy blocking the killing curses that were flying at him three at a time.” Ginny was on her feet, shaking off Harry’s hands on her shoulders, crossing the small bathroom until she was practically nose to nose with Malfoy. It emphasized his height, but that didn’t seem to deter Ginny. She was the one who had caused him to step back into a corner. 

“Theo would rather be dead than this,” he spat back. 

“ _ Sod off,  _ Malfoy. _ ”  _ Ginny was screaming, tears falling from her eyes. She reached out and shoved Malfoy against the counter. 

“What’s wrong Weasley, can’t handle the truth?”

“You need to get Draco out of here.”

Pansy was behind her, whispering into her ear. Hermione jumped at the sensation of her warm breath against her skin. 

“Yes, because you were there, listening as he screamed and felt as his terror flowed into you. Oh wait,” Ginny tapped her chin and tilted her head upwards and Hermione knew things were about to get out of control. “No, you were inside of the burning building, throwing Unforgivables at Hermione and doing Tom’s bidding!”

Hermione lunged the moment Malfoy’s hand shot out. She snatched it and dragged him out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind them. There was a thud and a dulled scream as Ginny fought to follow them out. 

Malfoy seemed resolved to his fate, following her without a fight, but she could feel the anger coming off him in waves, settling in her bones and making her muscles tremor.

She passed the third floor, ignoring her bedroom and Fred’s confused glare as he stepped out of his own, limping slightly. She did  _ not  _ have time to deal with that right now. 

She didn’t stop until the roof door squeaked beneath her hand and the sunlight blinded her. The whipping autumn winds drew a shiver from her. When they were in the middle of the fighting grounds, she stopped and turned to him. 

“The fuck, Granger? What’s the point in being bound to you if you’re just going to let me stumble in on my best mate suffering like that?”

Hermione scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. She managed to hold back from rolling her eyes. “Pardon me, Malfoy. Let me just throw that information at you carelessly next time, even though I didn’t receive a single  _ thought  _ from you!”

“I was busy! In case you hadn’t noticed, the Death Eater’s were decimated last night. Those left had a lot of explaining to do.”

“Brilliant, and you thought learning about Theo in the middle of all that would do what, exactly? Make you feel better? Make it easier to accept?”

He placed his hands on his hips, the epitome of a mother scolding her child. Hermione hated it. She hated every part of anything that made this conversation necessary. 

“I suppose I considered you intelligent enough to know that the well being of Theo took precedence over anything else. That was a foresight on my part, Granger. Next time I’ll be sure to remind myself that while you are indeed swotty, you really aren’t all that bright.”

Hermione took a step forward, jamming her index finger firmly into his chest. “Your harsh words will not change anything. I didn’t tell you and I don’t regret it. Theo was bitten by a werewolf. The sooner you accept all this, the sooner we can come up with a game plan and figure this all out together.”

Malfoy pressed his lips together, considering. After a moment he sighed and pointed at her accusingly. “You’re still a bitch.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked towards the edge of the roof. “Yeah, alright. Fuck off.”

He followed her, but seemed to think the conversation was over. They stood quietly, wind blowing her unruly curls around her face. 

“How did it go?”

Malfoy shrugged, hands in his pockets and eyes set on the horizon. “The Dark Lord isn’t happy, but I suppose that’s good news for you.”

She turned her head to face him. “And not for you?”

“Anyone alive that was present at the raid will be receiving their consequences in a timely manner.”

Hermione's stomach twisted. This was part of their deal, she reminded herself. Malfoy had aligned himself with the wrong side. There were consequences for that. Ones he had to face.  _ Deserved  _ to face, even. 

The words fell flat, even in her head. 

“You’re the one that came to the Order. You said you could hold off the Death Eaters for even longer.”

“It doesn’t mean I have to look forward to being tortured because of it.”

Hermione let a smile fall onto her lips. “I hope Tom won’t be subjecting you to one of his diary entries. I hear he’s quite a sap.”

“The cruciatus is a blessing, you’re right,” he bit out drily. 

“Do you have any new information that might be of use to the Order?”

He didn’t answer her, but dug into his robes and pulled out a scroll. His face was blank and there were no emotions coming through their tether. For the first time since their binding, she was completely cut off. 

The feeling unsettled her more than she thought it would. 

She plucked the scroll from his palm, careful to not let their skin touch. 

“I have to get back.” He met her eyes for the first time. “You’ll tell me when Theo wakes. No matter what.”

It wasn’t a question, and since he wasn’t asking, she didn’t answer. She spun on her heel and pushed through the roof door, hearing the crack of apparition as it groaned shut behind her. 

\---

It took three days, six screaming matches between Harry and Ginny, four angry disapparations from said Chosen One, and about fifteen bandage changes for Theo to wake up. 

Hermione was sprawled on the couch, watching the four companions once again take to the floor. Luna was snuggled into Theo’s side, while Harry and Ginny laid next to Luna, heads facing each other. Neville was able to convince Pansy to rest in a bed, of only for a few hours. 

Harry had done his best to keep his cool, but the pressure of Luna and Ginny both being in such inconsolable pain had done him in more than once. Despite this, he still joined Ginny every night, and she accepted his embrace willingly, albeit silently. 

When Theo shot up straight, shoulders heaving with heavy breaths, she was the only one awake. His head turned wildly as he took in his surroundings, eyes finally falling on her. 

“Why am I not dead?” His brow furrowed as his hands moved up his torso slowly— probably searching for injuries. 

Hermione’s chin jutted out towards his partner. “Ginny’s stubbornness and strong will. She would have never let you go that easily.”

Theo stiffened when his fingers reached the wound on his neck. It was mostly closed, but there were no spells they could perform to get it to heal faster. It was scabbed over, but the scar would be obvious. 

“Shite,” he murmured, palming the long, crescent shaped injury. 

“Do you remember what happened?”

“It wasn’t Fenrir, and I think that’s what caught me off guard the most. I thought he was the only one that could transform without the full moon.”

Luna stirred to his right, and Theo sat stock still. Hermione refrained from speaking. It seemed he wasn’t ready to face everyone quite yet. 

When she was peaceful once again, Hermione continued on. “We’ve since gotten in contact with Snape. Apparently Tom’s team has been working on a potion that lets them turn during any night. We saw the results of that during the raid.”

“Does that mean—“ he paused, hand falling into his lap and blue eyes looking up to meet hers. “—will I turn?”

Hermione hesitated. This was not supposed to be her conversation to have. She looked over to Ginny, who even in her sleep looked stressed and worried. Through the darkness Hermione could see the purple circles under her eyes. 

“Yes. We’re told you will. Though we’re unsure how being bit by a werewolf that was under the influence of the potion will affect your transformation.”

Theo’s lips pressed together. His head fell back and a few drops of blood fell from his neck as the wound was reopened by the jerky motion. 

“Fuck.” He stood and began pacing the room. “This is going to complicate everything.” He paused and glanced towards Hermione. “What am I to do for the full moon?”

She reached her foot out towards Luna and tapped her lightly, hoping Theo wouldn’t notice. 

“Let me— I need to call Malfoy. He’ll have my head if you’ve woken and I haven’t told him.”

Luna laid motionless. Hermione wanted to kick her. 

“Please don’t.” Theo’s tone edged on begging. “I don’t want anyone worrying over me like that. It’s late, it can wait until morning.”

“He’s awake and he can feel my distress. He’ll probably come in a few minutes of his own volition and then we’ll all have to hear him bitch.”

Theo collapsed on the ground, back in his pile of blankets, and shoved Ginny awake before calmly turning towards Luna and nudging her lightly. 

“Wake up, everybody,” Theo shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. “Your favorite dog is conscious and needs a pat and a treat.”

Hermione carefully noted that he faced Ginny first, and though he rolled his eyes and complained that her hugs were suffocating, even as he turned to Luna, a hand lingered on Ginny’s back. It was subtle, nothing to note, really. 

Except she couldn’t help but wonder if that hand would be there if the bind wasn’t. 

Malfoy came within thirty seconds of Hermione alerting him, shamelessly throwing his arms around Theo before pulling back and falling onto the couch next to Hermione. He held his hands in his lap and she watched from the corner of her eyes as they twitched rhythmically. 

They hadn’t had any contact since she’d left him on the roof three days ago. His bed had been left made and cold. He wasn’t sleeping here and it left Hermione exhausted and irritable. 

“We have three days. Does the Order have a plan?”

Three days until the next full moon. 

“No wolfsbane. We’ll have to find a place to keep him when he turns,” Hermione replied. 

Malfoy shifted, knee pressing against the back of the couch as he turned to face her head on. 

“Is there a safe place for him here, or at any of the other safe houses?”

“They’re called  _ safe  _ houses, Malfoy,” Hermione bit out between clenched teeth. “I hardly think bringing a first time werewolf to any of them would qualify.”

“Then, what? You’ll chain him up like a dog to the nearest tree?”

Her head snapped to him. His face was serious and his eyes were burning. He was scared, she reminded herself. His best friend’s life just changed exponentially and he was terrified. 

“We’re working on wolfsbane for the next full moon, but for this one he’ll have to transform. Where, I’m not sure. But we’ll search diligently today and tomorrow. Worse comes to worse I’m sure we could just ward him into a room in the basement.”

“And what about the Weasley?” He jutted his chin towards Ginny, who had a giant grin plastered on her face as she watched Theo dramatically retell his tale. 

Hermione tilted her head. “What about her?”

“Well,” Malfoy began with an arrogant tone of ‘I know something you don’t’, “if these bloody binds of yours let the other person feel pain and emotions—“

“Oh, Godric—“ 

“Then I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a witch and a werewolf bound before.”

Her shoulders slumped with realization. In all the insanity of the last few days they hadn’t even thought about how this could affect Ginny. Her hands twisted in her lap in an effort to keep from picking at her cuticles. It was a dead give away. 

“Granger—“

“Where have you been?” Her voice was a whip, cracking over the happy demeanor that had taken over the large room. All eyes turned on her and Malfoy flinched away from the attention. 

“You’ve been gone, without even a second thought towards me— or the Order,” she added, “and you come back demanding answers to all these questions, as if I’ve had the time to just sit around and  _ research—“ _

“My apologies, Granger,” Malfoy’s spine straightened and she could feel his mind snapping into focus, as if he’d been waiting for this. “I thought reading was your go to, after all that seemed to be your biggest contribution in the Golden Trio—“

Hermione gasped, hands balling into fists as she fought the urge to take out her wand and hex him. “I don’t know how you can say that after seeing me in battle.”

He laughed.  _ Actually  _ laughed. Head thrown back in joy and a smile spread across his lips. “Of course. I was just assuming, since you almost died, that it wasn’t some of your best work.”

She jumped to her feet, finger pointing accusingly at him. “I had that handled. You’re the one that couldn’t handle the thought of me getting injured.  _ You’re  _ the one that put everything at risk by stunning your father because you don’t have your priorities straight.”

Malfoy was on his feet now too, closing the space until they were chest to chest. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was a mere whisper, low and dangerous

“It  _ means,” _ she bit out, trying— and failing— to suppress the evil smirk from her face— “that you put my life above the goal of the mission. You thought with your heart; pushed all logic aside.”

“That’s a riot, thinking you’ve weaseled your way into my heart; to even think that I have  _ anything  _ left in there to give. No, that’s all you and your bloody bind and Gryffindor arrogance.” There was a flush on his cheeks that could be from anger, but Hermione knew otherwise. 

“You’re the one that shot off the spell, so explain that.” His exterior was faltering, his shields slowly being lowered and he hadn’t even noticed yet. He was too caught up in the emotions he so rarely let himself feel. 

He was out of practice. 

“I did it because as an outsider here, your death would have fallen on my shoulders.” He placed his hands on her biceps and gripped, lightly shaking her while a maniacal grin spread across his face. “Can’t give up my chance at my pardon, now can I?”

She shook off his hands and took a sobering step back. “You’re so full of shite that it’s practically coming out of your ears. You were scared for me and you acted without thinking. Why can’t you just admit that?”

“Because  _ look  _ at Theo!” He was screaming, hands thrown at his friend. Hermione gasped as she realized they had all been watching this entire time. That was the problem with the two of them. They got too emotional too quickly, always resorting to anger and getting lost in it. 

Malfoy seemed to notice, too. He ran a hand through his hair, blinking hard before turning on his heel and storming up the stairs. 

Hermione glanced around once more, hoping—  _ praying _ — someone would break the silence besides her, because she had no idea what to say; no explanation for what had just happened. She couldn’t possibly explain why she had just acted in such a malicious manner, or why she so badly needed to prove that Malfoy cared. 

No one spoke. Her mouth opened and closed. Opened and closed. Opened, and a strangled sound came out before she clicked it shut again. Still everyone just stared. 

“I should— I’m going to—“ she snapped her mouth shut once more and rushed out of the door. 

She took the stairs two at a time until she reached Malfoy’s bedroom door. She turned the handle and tumbled in, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Her head turned as she heard rummaging through the wall— the wall that was shared with  _ her  _ bedroom. 

“Fucking—“ Hermione rushed out and ran into her room to see Malfoy carding threw her drawers and throwing her neatly folded clothes onto the ground. 

“ _ Malfoy!”  _ She snatched the jumper out of his hand before he could toss it, but he just reached into the drawer and grabbed three more items of clothing. “What in Godric’s name are you doing?”

“I’m searching for the shirt I gave you.” He didn’t look up from his work and when that drawer was empty he shoved it shut and moved onto the next. 

“It’s not in there.” She didn’t move to stop him; didn’t reach for the clothes on the ground. She just stood, watching him and feeling as his anger turned to despair. He was attempting to construct a pair of flimsy walls, but they crumbled faster than they could be built. 

“I need it back.” His voice was unsteady. 

She pointed towards her bed. Her hand shook. “Under the pillow.”

His head whipped around and his eyes pierced into her. He stared, almost disbelievingly for a moment before stomping over and lifting the pillow— tossing it to the ground as well— and gingerly taking the shirt in his hands. He stared at it, flipping it over several times. 

“You weren’t here.” She sounded breathless; trying to figure out how the atmosphere had changed so drastically in such a short period of time. 

“Did it help?”

She shook her head. “I slept downstairs with Theo and the others. I didn’t want to bring it with me.”

“I should be able to stay tonight.”

Hermione scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest, cocking her hip out. “Is that for you or for me? Surprised you were even able to function with such unsteady hands.”

“You should really sleep with this under your pillow, whoever you are.” He gestured to the shirt before dropping it down on her bed. “Maybe you could even wear it. It would be a smidge big, but I imagine it would help quite a bit.” 

Hermione’s head was spinning. Surely she hadn’t heard him right. “You… want me to wear your old quidditch jersey?”

He shrugged, head turned and eyes glued to the door. “I’m just saying it would probably help with the sleeping issues. Since I can’t be here every night. And I really can’t be here every night.” His eyes met hers, serious and earnest. “I told you, the Dark Lord has been coming down hard the past few days. There hasn’t been any time to stop by.”

Hermione stuck her nose in the air and feigned indifference. “You could have reached out.”

Malfoy crossed his arms, lips quirking into a playful smile. “I thought we weren’t supposed to be reaching out. Staving off the bind, as you say.” His tone was playful and accusatory. She felt the flush rush to her cheeks before she turned and began putting her clothes back into the proper drawers. 

“Yes, that is what we agreed on.”

“But?”

She pressed her lips together, pretending to focus on folding the denims in her hands. 

“Granger, if you want to root the bind—“

“I never said that,” she snapped, whipping her head around to glare at him. 

“Then we’re in agreement that you have no reason to be mad at me for not reaching out.”

“Except we both know you were doing it just to be spiteful.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You either want me to reach out and let the bind deepen, or you want us to stay surface level, which means I can’t contact you through the bind. You can’t have both.”

“I just—“ Her hands flew to her head, moving on her temples in soothing circles to stave off the headache that was blossoming. “What you’re doing is dangerous. I would have liked to know that you were okay.”

Malfoy smirked and she could feel his arrogance coming back, her confession giving him the upper hand. She hated this. Hated that she felt like she had to hide her feelings and cover them with hatred. Hated that sometimes fighting with Malfoy got her more excited than any other activity. Hated that she might actually  _ enjoy  _ arguing with him. 

“Now who sounds like they've let their partner into their heart?”

“Alright, I get it. Let’s just drop that argument completely. We hate each other, we always have and we always will. Deal?”

Malfoy stiffened, and his hesitance had her reaching out to pry through his mind. His shields were thrown up so quickly that she physically fell back a few steps. 

“Deal.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotionally unstable Draco is so much fun to write. Poor boy has the emotional capability of a teaspoon.  
> I’ve decided that since we’re so close to 200 kudos, if we get there before the next chapter is scheduled to be posted (next Sunday) then I’ll post 4 chapters in a row.  
> Thanks for the kind comments! This story’s plot is really underway and I can’t wait to show you guys where I’m taking it!
> 
> EDIT:  
>  Um you guys are so amazing you did it in less than twelve hours??  
> So here’s the way it’ll work: starting tomorrow (Monday) I will be posting one chapter a day until Thursday. You will still be getting your weekly update on Sunday as well.  
> Thank you. Thank you so much for the support.


	13. Moonfull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really overwhelmed and honored with how quickly the goal for kudos was met.  
> As promised, I have the four chapters edited and ready to post. I’m super excited. The plot is really starting to pick up here.  
> This chapter was supposed to be posted on Monday, and each subsequent chapter will be posted the next day. Buuuut I’m really excited and it’s already 9 pm here in Florida so... close enough.  
> Thank you thank you thank you for your support. I struggle all the time with my ability as a writer. I love knowing people look forward to what my crazy brain has come up with.

Malfoy had come bursting into Hermione’s bedroom four hours later, flouncing onto her bed like he had been invited, seemingly unbothered by the fact that she was half dressed and still asleep. 

“I set the bar so low for you,” she began, pulling on grey joggers and a sweatshirt, “yet you always seem to shock me with just how awful you are with human interactions.”

“Your ugly knickers and poorly executed sleeping schedule have little effect on those of us that choose to function on normal times. It’s nearly one in the afternoon.”

“Apologies, my office job went up into flames the day the ministry fell, and the unemployment line was too long so I decided to take up the war effort instead.” She flopped back down onto the bed and fixed Malfoy with a hard stare. “Sometimes that means we’re awake well past dawn.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Seems like a personal problem, Granger.”

“Surely you came in here for a reason,” she bit out. 

“Of course. Feeling your annoyance flood our bind is better than caffeine.” 

“ _ Malfoy.” _

“Fine.” He shifted back against the wall, kicking his feet up onto her mattress. With his  _ shoes on _ . She shoved them to the ground. “I, in one of my usual moments of brilliance, have thought of a place we can keep Theo when he turns.”

Hermione fought the urge to raise her eyebrows. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Well? Share with the class.”

“You know that cabin we first met at—“

“The one that’s falling apart at the seams and would surely crumble to the ground if it housed a newly transformed werewolf and whatever might happen to his bound partner?”

Malfoy threw her a grin. “That’s the very one.”

She narrowed her eyes into the swottiest, most Hermione Granger glare she could muster. “You’re barmy.”

“You underestimate me, Granger.” He studied his nails with feigned interest. The smug was coming off him in thick waves. 

“I’m losing interest, Malfoy,” she shot back in a dull tone. Honestly, was it all dramatics with him?

“Something you failed to take note of while we convened there,” he began, sitting up and placing his elbows on his knees. Hermione thought back to the aristocratic man he pretended to be in fifth and sixth year. She wondered what he’d think of the hunched over blood traitor sitting in front of her. “was the possibility of an underground room.”

Hermione moved her head back and forth noncommittally. “That’s a Malfoy property, then?”

“Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Were you planning on throwing me down there to serve as a family slave when Tom came out on top?” 

“Have you seen the state of your room?” He gestured to the clothes sprawled across the wood floor. “You’d make an awful slave.”

She shoved his arm and rose to her feet to begin gathering the garments. Not because he had mentioned it,  _ certainly not.  _ She had been meaning to attend to them since he’d so rudely woken her up. 

“These are from  _ you _ , after your freak out the night before. Perhaps you could assist me.”

Malfoy ignored her and reclined back onto her pillows, closing his eyes. “I found the place, now you need to research the proper wards.”

Hermione threw a jumper at him, glaring. “I am not required to do anything at your orders. In fact, things are actually quite the opposite.”

“So you’ll just let Theo suffer then?”

Hermione stiffened. She turned back around and began folding her clothes once more. 

“I don't need to research.” She reached for the journal she kept stashed in her bedside table and tossed it at him. He caught it out of the air with a raised brow. 

“Page thirteen.” She listened as he thumbed through the pages. His body went still. 

“These are complex.”

“Remus’ wolf was complex. It didn’t like wolfsbane. We always had to take countermeasures.”

The silence that followed was strained. Hermione hated talking about Lupin or Tonks. She hated that even the happiest of memories conjured their lifeless bodies to the forefront of her mind, no matter how far back she pushed those visuals. It seemed like it was the universe’s way of telling her she just shouldn’t bring them up. 

Sometimes it was necessary. She had a feeling this entire situation with Theo could cause an emotional breakdown. If not for her, then definitely for Harry. 

She heard shuffling behind her and she turned to see Malfoy on his feet. He was dressed pristinely, as always, and though she  _ knew  _ he hadn’t slept a wink last night, there were no outward signs. She wondered how he accomplished it. 

“I can go get started on these. The full moon is tomorrow.” He stared at the door over her shoulder before meeting her eyes. “There should probably be some people on standby, just in case things don’t go as planned.”

Hermione nodded. “I assume you won’t be surprised with who I show up with tomorrow.”

Malfoy looked her over, the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Granger, there’s hardly ever a moment where you don’t surprise me.”

With that, he was out her door.

\---

Theo, who was probably pushed to the very brink of insanity due to his upcoming transformation, did not take well to Hermione’s request for other Order members to join him at his transformation location (which she had shortened to transforcation, both because it amused her and because it annoyed Theo). 

Theo, who was now probably unable to return to full time sanity, due to the impending invasion of a werewolf in conjunction with his arguably suicidal friends, was even angrier when his closest companions refused to give into his requests (begging) that they stay as far away from the cabin as possible. 

“I hate you all.” He was sitting on the couch, arms folded over his chest and nose stuck in the air. Draco Malfoy would be impressed. 

Ginny snickered and threw her arms around his neck. She was in a better mood since Theo’s awakening and didn’t seem at all concerned about what the next 48 hours would hold for either of them. Hermione had pulled her aside earlier to discuss Malfoy’s worries for the redhead, and while Ginny had paled, she insisted she had no true concerns about this matter. 

“If Theo has to suffer through this, it only seems right that something happens to me as well.”

Hermione had smiled tightly and gave her a supportive hug, but all she could think about was how concerning that statement was. Ginny shouldn’t be in pain just because Theo was. It almost seemed like she was punishing herself for what had happened to Theo. 

_ Not quite dark magic.  _

“Hermione.” Theo’s voice shook her back to the present. 

“Theo.” Why did she sound so unsteady? Her voice couldn’t handle two bloody syllables without breaking?

“You don’t have to come, you know.”

“Yes, I do.”

Theo surveyed her. “Draco will be fine without you.”

“Not everything is about Draco.” Theo’s eyebrows rose. “ _ Malfoy  _ is the person I’m bound to,” she went on with careful indifference, “but you’re my friend. I’d like to be there to make sure everything is going off without a hitch.”

Theo snorted, picking at a loose thread in his robes. “I’m pretty sure the whole thing is going to be utterly chaotic. There’s not a chance in hell something doesn’t go wrong.”

“Then you’ll need me and my analytical thinking and quick wand.” She placed a hand over his to still his movements. “We’re going to see you through it, no matter what.”

Theo nodded, lips pressed together. “I’d rather there not be so many of you.” His tone was acidic and Hermione’s pity ebbed away and was replaced with irritation.

“We’re doing this because we care about you.”

“Can’t you care from a distance?”

She sat up, moving to the edge of the couch. “Do you know all we’ve done to keep you alive the past few days? All the lost sleep and _years_ taken off my life spent worrying about your well being after that bloody bite?”

“It’s like Draco told you,” he hissed coldly, “I’d rather be dead.”

Theo was so rarely a snake. He was more like a lizard, with all the careful movements and eyes that caught everything, but lacking the bite. 

After tonight, she didn’t think she’d ever feel that way again. 

“You know,” she said, tone conversational, “I bet if you were on the other side of the war, like you’d planned to be, they would have filled that request without a second thought.”

With that, she was off the couch and storming out of the nearest door, bumping into a concerned Ginny without a second glance. 

\---

The next evening, while Hermione was double (triple) checking the wards Malfoy had set, she was approached by a pale looking Theo. He stood by her as she added the last few spells, hands in his pockets and eyes cast up at the slowly darkening sky. 

“Ginny tells me I owe you an apology.” His gaze didn’t shift. Hermione felt vindication at his discomfort. “She says I’m just scared and not used to people taking care of me.”

“And that Slytherins never ask for help,” Ginny chimed in, a few feet away stringing up some herbs into planters that Luna  _ insisted  _ would repel any other werewolves in the area. Hermione had already warded seven different spells into the area for that exact reason, but one look at the girl’s tense shoulders and tired eyes and the argument had died on the tip of her tongue. 

“There's not a situation you shouldn’t be able to find yourself out of, Nott.” Malfoy stood next to her, double checking her double checked wards. Merlin. 

Harry scoffed, but said nothing. Pansy was less forgiving. 

“You’re the worst out of all of us, Draco. No one else here is doing the bidding for both sides of the war.”

Malfoy shrugged, now stringing together the anti-werewolf herbs before handing them to Ginny. He’d really do anything to keep his hands busy tonight. “Then no one else has both their bases covered.”

Hermione slapped his shoulder harshly. “Malfoy, that’s not funny. People are dying.”

“Yes, Granger, but I won’t be one of them.”

“Don’t worry Granger,” Pansy stage whispered, “he’s all talk that one. You should have heard him crying in sixth year.”

Malfoy remained unruffled. “If the Dark Lord wins, don’t come looking to me for a pardon.”

Pansy shrugged. “I’m dead anyways.”

“We can’t all be that lucky,” Neville murmured. Hermione lifted her water bottle in cheers. 

She looked out over the horizon. The sun was beginning to set behind the trees. She turned to Theo, whose apology, which was frankly lacking both heart and feeling, she had chosen to not accept. 

“It’s time. Head to the basement.” She didn’t ask if he was ready, because he wasn’t; or if he was okay, because he couldn’t be. 

His life was about to change forever. 

She nodded Theo into the house, and waited outside with her back turned as the others said their goodbyes. Hermione wasn’t sentimental, and found the act more awkward than comforting. She would see Theo afterwards and they could discuss him delivering a meaningful apology then. 

When he was appropriately isolated, Malfoy grabbed a pair of magical handcuffs and gestured for Ginny to sit on the steps of the porch. When Hermione asked how he had acquired these particular handcuffs, he’d murmured something about Malfoy family heirlooms. She’d just been about to ask about the morality of said heirloom when he’d cut her off—

_ “Not quite dark magic.”  _

That phrase seemed to haunt her. 

Ginny, who had been resigned to her fate since the moment this possibility had been brought up to her, chatted happily as the sun disappeared and the moon rose eerily. Theo had asked them to charm the room so that no one would be able to hear his transformation, so Ginny was their only lifeline to him.

Three minutes after the moon made its debut, Ginny gasped.

“I can feel him... changing.” Her eyes were wide, but she wasn’t writhing on the ground like she had in Hermione’s nightmares. 

Hermione laid a hand on her friend’s forearm. “Are you alright?”

She nodded her head vigorously. “It’s not painful… more like—” she squeezed her eyes shut. “Our tether is empty, like he’s gone, but I can feel his heartbeat, distantly.”

“I guess it would make sense,” Hermione began. “You’re bound to Theo, not his wolf. The full moon is his wolf’s night to come out.”

“I can’t be sure, but I don’t think the wolf is going to affect me. I’m a part of Theo but I’m  _ not  _ Theo.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Even though she’d never admitted it out loud, the possibility of Ginny’s death had swirled around her head since Malfoy had mentioned her possible werewolf side effects.

Hermione prided herself on the accuracy and pure impossibility of the binding spell. There had never been anything quite like it, and in times like these that was the scariest part. They had no idea how any of this could have turned out. Ginny could have turned with the moon as well, or maybe the mere fact that they were bound would have enraged the wolf, cutting the connection completely. There were so many ways in which this night ended in disaster.

Yet here she was, an hour after the rising of the full moon, discussing Quidditch maneuvers with Malfoy, as if it hadn’t been four years since the last professional Quidditch match. She thought about Hogwarts. Perhaps the Carrows enjoyed the sport. 

They had no way of knowing what was happening within the castle walls. All professors suspected to be loyal to the Order were kicked outside the gates the day after the Hogwarts battle, and the school had been kept under lock and key ever since. They’d been desperate to find an informant inside the castle for years, but it truly seemed that all who attended the school now had sided with Voldemort. Her heart clenched.

She jumped when Malfoy gave a laugh beside her. Ginny was sitting beside him, right hand still cuffed to the porch, making a silly face as she retold a story of Theo.

On the other side of her, Harry was shaking with repressed chuckles while he and Luna threw in their own memories of how Ginny’s tale had happened. Hermione tried to listen in; tried to laugh along and act like her heart was light, but their words seemed disjointed to her. She couldn’t follow along; couldn’t stop her mind from wandering to a time before all this seemed possible.

“Granger,” Malfoy broke in after another bit of this. She jerked her head at him, schooling her expression into one of indifference. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“I was simply going to ask if you thought we’d waited long enough to remove Ginny from her porch prison.”

“No.” They’d agreed on three hours, why was he questioning this now?

“I only ask, of course, because it has been the allotted three hours.”

Hermione blanched. Surely that couldn’t be accurate.

“Mi, you’ve been in your own world over there for ages. Are you alright?”

Hermione turned her head towards Harry. Luna was shuffling closer to his side, probably seeking warmth against the biting wind. It seemed that winter would be coming early this year.

“Quite fine, thank you.” Her tone left no room for argument.

Once Ginny was left to her own devices, she began running around the open field, demonstrating her Quidditch moves with grace, even without a broom. Hermione’s heart twisted. In sixth year Ginny had confided in Hermione her goal to become a professional Quidditch player after Hogwarts. At the time Hermione had considered it a pipe dream, but looking at her now, she wondered if she hadn’t been a bit cynical.

“Perhaps you take too much guilt on yourself.” Malfoy sat next to her on the stairs, leant back with an elbow perched on the wood panel above them. It was just the two of them left on the steps now. 

“I assure you I have no interest in deciphering your riddles tonight,” Hermione snapped, keeping her eyes straightforward. Luna had now broken out into an interpretative dance.

“Why does it bother you so that you didn’t think your friend was good enough to be a professional Quidditch player?”

“Because if she can survive five years in a war then she could have flown around on a broomstick chasing snitches and quaffles for a living.”

“She would have made a professional team because she was a great player. That has nothing to do with the war.”

“I should have had more faith in her.” Hermione’s fingers scraped against the rough wood beneath her. The sound echoed loudly in Malfoy’s silence and she stuffed her hands in her pockets, repressing a shiver that she convinced herself was due to the wind.

“You just didn’t know anything about Quidditch.” His voice had a teasing quality, but there was no sign of a smirk or even a grin. His eyes were on the trees above and his expression was composed and hard to read. Hermione scoffed.

“I assure you, just because I found the sport to be droll, if not barbaric, that does  _ not  _ mean I didn’t know what was going on.”

“You sat there every game with your nose stuffed into a muggle book. If you weren’t watching then how could you possibly understand the extremely  _ nuanced  _ rules?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Those were just the games. You’ve no idea how many practices I attended.”

“You, the greatest hater of Quidditch, attended Gryffindor practices?” Malfoy turned to her, brows raised in amusement.

“Well I could hardly let Harry onto a broom without proper supervision after his very first game, now could I?”

“And you were going to be the one to save him if something went awry?”

“Oh Malfoy,” she grabbed his hands in hers and patted them with a look of extreme pity. “If only you knew what I was capable of back then.” She released his fists and perched her elbows behind her, leaning back to look at the stars. Out here, where there were no other signs of life, they gleamed with an almost sunlight intensity. She would have longed for a view like this during their Astronomy projects back in sixth year. 

“I didn’t hate Quidditch,” she whispered after a long pause.

“Didn’t you just—”

“I thought it was nonsensical, yes,” she interrupted with a roll of her eyes, “But I like to think back to those Saturday games in the early years— before it was clear the tides were turning in favor of war. The Great Hall filled with nervous energy from the players and House Spirit from everyone else.” She turned her neck towards him and found his eyes on her, reading her over as if for the first time. “I might have put on a good act— and I do believe the sport stems from our refusal to repress our more neanderthal instincts— but even I wasn’t immuned from that type of excitement.”

“Careful Granger,” Malfoy whispered, leaning his head nearer to whisper in her ear, “one might think you’re fond of me if you continue to tell me your secrets.”

Hermione huffed out a laugh, sitting up and leaning her forearms on her knees. Her back was aching from too many hours of sitting in one place. Why hadn’t she moved to get up yet? Surely the wards needed checking. She made to push herself off the steps, but Malfoy’s voice stopped her.

“You hate seeing them have so much joy during war time.”

Hermione’s breath stuttered. She covered it up by adjusting the buttons on her cloak. “I don’t see how they can forget, even for a second, why we’re here or what’s going on.” She turned her whole body until she was balanced precariously on the narrow step. “Theo’s downstairs living out one of the worst moments of his life thus far and they’re up here acting out a game that hasn’t been important since the Dementors stormed the field in third year.”

She was breathing heavily at the end of her rant, her pants misting in front of her as the night turned frigid. Malfoy was sitting up straight now, his lips pressed together and eyes roving her slowly.

“Perhaps they’re trying to cope. Just as much as you, I’d imagine.”

She didn’t want to talk about this anymore. She didn’t want to ponder why they got to relieve their anxieties with laughter when her only solution was to trudge on and hope there would be something left to laugh at when the war was over. Someone left to laugh with.

“You watched me.”

“Sorry, it’s just you have a leaf in your hair—”

He reached out to her curls and she batted his hand away. “Back in the school days, I meant.”

“What in the world could make you say that?” His lips were pulled back in a smirk and his shoulders slumped a bit in laughter.

“The Slytherin stands were on the other side of the Quidditch pitch, yet you knew I was reading.”

Malfoy stiffened, but recovered quickly. “Everyone knew you read during matches, Granger. It’s a wonder you weren’t committed to St. Mungo’s for testing with all the commotion you caused by ignoring the game.”

“Ah yes,” Hermione nodded solemnly. “But I wonder, did anyone else look closely enough to realize I didn’t just indulge in informational texts and school books?”

Malfoy shrugged, and if Hermione wasn’t bound to him, she would have believed he was unbothered by this information.

But they were bound, and his emotions flowed to her too quickly for him to stop. At a distance this close, after their time apart, it couldn’t be helped. 

Malfoy stood. “I’m going to check the wards around the property now. We have about six hours left until the sun rises.”

Hermione didn’t say anything as Draco stood to leave. She was left to sit with her thoughts, wondering why this revelation made her feel so uneasy.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you are probably upset with how anticlimactic the Theo/Ginny werewolf situation was, but the way werewolves work, in my fic at least, views the wolf as a very separate part of THEO (and only Theo). Almost like an alter ego, if you’d like to think of it that way. Ginny is attached to Theo only. When the full moon comes out it’s the wolf’s time to play and Theo is pushed to the background, therefore Ginny doesn’t feel any of the pain or feel any of the experiences.   
> I also wanted to use it as an opportunity to show that, while bound, there are still certain things/experiences that will remain solely their own. This was just an example of it. I remember earlier on someone had asked if Draco could feel Hermione was having sex with Fred, and I didn’t answer that question at the time, because truly I don’t know how to explain it. The answer is no, sex is an experience they hold solely to their own mind but I’ve yet to come up with an satisfying explanation as to why this is, which is why it hasn’t been explained in the fic yet.   
> And last, Theo is going to do stuff in the future regarding his werewolfism that is going to separate him from Ginny in some form, therefore I needed her to not be affected by his transformation.  
> See you all tomorrow!


	14. Rooted Binds

When the sun began to lazily rise above the edges of the far off mountains, Draco was exhausted. He had spent the majority of his time strengthening the wards around the cabin— Merlin,  _ Brightest Witch of Her Age? _ — she could hardly cast spells that lasted more than five hours. Afterwards, when he’d felt a pair of sharp eyes on him, tracking his movements, he’d resigned himself to spend the rest of his night laughing and joking with the Dunder Squad. 

Truthfully, after an hour or so, he’d found it wasn’t all too difficult to let go and find a bit of pointless joy in the stories they were sharing. Despite the war, they seemed to get themselves into a lot of stupid situations that lacked all the danger in raids or battle. This war had done nothing to curve their Gryffindor enthusiasm. It seemed that not even the sullen world could dampen their optimism. Even Pansy and Theo seemed to get dragged through the mud trying to keep up with them. 

He pointed a finger at Pansy. “That’s what you get for being involved with a Gryffindor.” 

“You’re about to find out a little about that,” she answered with a giggle and a shrug. 

He wasn’t laughing with them, no.  _ That  _ was the funniest thought of the entire night. He was laughing at them.

When the sun was surely high in the sky, Potter released an anxious Ginny and allowed her and Lovegood to go scurrying down to the basement to fetch Theo. As much as Draco longed to see him, he was dreading Theo’s first glances back into his  _ normal  _ life. Draco didn’t want to see his squinted eyes as the sunlight drifted into the pitch black basement, his naked body or the torn shreds of his clothing littering the floor. What type of mood would he be in? It was so rare to catch Theo in anything other than sarcastic and joyful. What if he came up feeling sullen and sour? Draco wasn’t sure he could stomach it.

He stood to leave, to apparate away. No one had to know why and if they asked he could just mumble some nonsense about the Dark Mark. People hated when he brought up his Dark Mark, reminding them what he’d chosen for the past five years. Unless it was Granger, of course. She’d pry deeper into the issue, possibly even reaching out through their bind to see if he was lying or hiding something. 

He couldn’t lie to Granger. Not that he didn’t want to; he would lie circles around her if at all possible. But even without their tether she saw right through him. It was this fact that kept him planted to his spot right by the cabin stairs, as three pairs of feet clonked up from the basement.

Granger appeared at his side, standing silent and eyes staring straight ahead. Her back was so stiff he wondered if she wouldn’t need a Calming Draught to hunch her shoulders once more. Back in their Hogwarts days—

Theo appeared in the doorway, flanked by the two women who loved him most. Strange, he thought as he took in Theo’s bedraggled appearance. Even in the sickest turn of events— before Theo’s supposed death— when Theo was itching to take the Mark, and the tides of the war hadn’t yet been decided, Draco had never pictured this as an outcome. These people had never even crossed his mind. They weren’t even a speck on the Dark Lord’s battle map. 

“Well,” Theo broke out, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Is no one going to come dote on me? Truly, I’m horrified.”

He was flanked suddenly, wrapped into a group hug so repulsive that Draco made a note to mock him later on. Not now, of course. He would wait an hour or so.

When Theo was released— meaning he complained and yanked himself from their gangly limbs— he sauntered up to Draco. He was swimming in arrogance, especially for someone that had just spent his past twelve hours pacing and growling in a tiny, enchanted basement. His clothes— his  _ muggle  _ jeans and t-shirt that he must have borrowed from Potter— were rumpled and too short at the ankles. Draco was going to point this out, really he was, but then Theo’s dead eyes met his and it all made sense.

He was more Slytherin than Draco ever gave him credit for.

“Draco.” Nott stopped a few paces away from him, a smiling tugging at the edge of his lips. “It’s awfully Hufflepuff of you to be here waiting to check on me.”

“Please, Nott. Salazar is rolling in his grave after watching that spectacle of unrefined emotion you just displayed.” Right, so not quite an hour, but he did give it his best shot.

They didn’t embrace this time— Draco was in much more control of his emotions. But Theo’s eyes studied him slowly. They started at his blonde hair and ended on his toes. Draco did the same. If Theo found anything concerning during his perusal, he kept his face in a careful mask that didn’t reveal anything.

Draco was sure to do the same. Afterall, Theo looked awful. 

He memorized his appearance, the bruises and scrapes, the pure exhaustion that was exuding off him. The horror that was in his eyes.

Draco took it, folded the memory until it was no bigger than his pinky nail, and tucked it into the recesses of his mind, never to be found again.

Granger enveloped Theo into one more hug, reaming into him about less than heartfelt apologies. Draco wasn’t following along. The drawling tone of her voice meant she wasn’t saying anything of great importance, not to him at least.

“I have to go,” Draco burst out, catching Granger with her mouth open in a smile. She turned sharply towards him.

“Everything alright?”

“Yes.” Except not, because he actually  _ was  _ being summoned by the Dark Lord now. 

“I have to go,” he repeated.

Granger nodded, reaching her hand out before dropping it to her side once more. 

“Be safe, Draco.”

\---

Afterwards, Draco was sitting in his room obsessing over the one tiny, five letter mistake. 

She had called him  _ Draco.  _

Surely it was a mistake. He could feel that in his bones, that she had let it slip out accidentally. A moment of weakness after an emotional night. She was always letting her emotions cloud her better judgment. 

Draco shook off the thought and allowed himself some time to Occlude. He hadn’t been given any tasks that needed to be tended to immediately, and he desperately needed some time to himself. 

The past week had been a mess of stress and truly pushing his mental limits. 

The Dark Lord was not happy with the way the raid had gone. Obviously. 

Punishments were in order. They were to be delivered the day that he had apparated to find Theo unconscious and in a bathtub of ice. Draco sat in between his father and Dawlish, who was still sporting a nasty broken leg. 

Draco sat with his eyes facing forward as his father was crucio’d unconscious. Nothing new there, and acting horrified would just double his own time. 

He closed his eyes as the Dark Lord lifted his wand. He didn’t flinch when the Crucio was cast. When no pain came, he glanced to his left to see Dawlish writhing in the ground, his leg nearly unattached at this point. 

They continued around the table like this, Aunt Bella practically kissing the Dark Lord’s feet after his relentless torture on her. If Draco wasn’t properly Occluded, his stomach would have turned. 

No explanation was given as to why Draco was skipped, they were merely dismissed. Some people needed help standing, others were still passed out where they sat at the table. Hell, some were dead, but no one important enough that Draco would need to report to the Order immediately. 

When he made it to his room, he began pacing. 

The Dark Lord had something else in store for him. That had to be the explanation. He was cooking up a much worse punishment for his recruit with so much potential. He would have some sort of sick, twisted lesson wrapped up in it. 

This thought brought out his paranoia. The Dark Lord must know something; must have been able to sneak his way into his mind when Draco’s guard was down. 

But Draco’s guard was  _ never  _ down. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time he had defied all odds. Some would say that was his party trick. 

And Draco had  _ so  _ many things he was hiding from the Death Eaters. His mind turned to Pansy and Theo, his double agent status, and a brown eyed girl with curly hair wearing cotton pants. 

They  _ couldn’t  _ find out about any of this. If the Order headquarters, planted firmly in his brain, were to become common knowledge then everyone would be dead. He would have no pardon in the new world. There would  _ be  _ no new world. 

So he Occluded. For days. He sat and meditated and took every memory he had of the Order of the Phoenix and its members and folded them into unique shapes. Paper cranes, elephants, and tiny squares littered his mind until he pushed them so far back they fell off a cliff, immediately disappearing from his short term memory. 

Truly. When he awoke in the middle of the night a few days later to a burning in his chest, he considered he was dying before he even thought about his bind to Granger. He had wiped it all from his immediate memory. He would have been just as surprised as the Dark Lord if he found anything out. 

It all came flooding back then, slamming into his mind with a force so sharp he physically fell back. He could feel her discomfort and suddenly it was all that mattered. He had been a stone wall of emotionless surety. No one could have broken his facade. 

Except Hermione  _ fucking _ Granger. 

He was still being flooded with all the memories he had pressed away, and therefore the emotions that accompanied them. 

Occlumency was a dangerous thing to rely on. Not done well enough, it caused too much pain and not enough shelter to your mind. Done too well and you cut yourself off completely to all emotions. There was always a come down phase from this. One couldn’t run from one's emotions permanently. 

Draco was experiencing the come down as he apparated to the cabin and then to Order Headquarters. He was emotional and unstable. It wasn’t his proudest moment. 

Draco was still waiting for his punishment. The longer things went on, the more unstable he felt. Waiting was the worst form of torture. It could happen at any time, and currently he was unprepared. He wasn’t able to Occlude to the extent he had before. His mind was weak and tired. 

\---

Hours later, after Draco had found some semblance of normal, he apparated back to Grimmauld. He was  _ sure  _ he was stable and in his right mind. 

Just an hour after his return, he found himself in his room and in a screaming argument with Hermione Granger. 

“Don’t act so noble, Malfoy.”

He wasn’t sure how they had gotten here, perhaps it was because he had dismissed her earlier questions about his Death Eater meeting. It was really not important and thoughts of it just reminded him how dangerous his presence was here. He didn’t want to think about it. She refused to believe him and he didn’t have the energy to reassure her. 

So here they were. Handling the situation like adults. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the same coward you’ve always been.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared into his eyes, a challenge rising. “The same person who ran in the Dark Forest first year, who faked a serious injury to get Hagrid fired.”  _ Who watched as I was crucio’d until I was senseless.  _

The last thought was sent silently, reverberating through their bind so loudly he could have thought the words weren’t even there. 

He was shaking with rage, not even trying to mask his emotions. “I’m risking my arse for the bloody Order. I’m giving  _ everything _ I have to make sure you lot win.” He articulated the words slowly, inching closer each time.

“Listen to you, saying ‘you lot win’. You can’t even align yourself with us, yet you want me to grovel at your feet?”

He rolled his eyes and brandished his best attempt at a sneer. “A simple thank you would suffice.”

She turned her head to the side. He could feel her hot breath on his chest. Their closeness was affecting the bond after being apart for the entirety of the day. His vision felt fuzzy and the pleasant thrumming in his chest contrasted the deep rage he felt bubbling in his stomach. The sensations were confusing and his brain was mush. He couldn’t think before speaking, couldn’t use his normal Occlumency shields. 

“If you want that maybe you should go talk to Harry.”

He scoffed, tongue poking at his cheek. “Even you can’t truly believe what I’m doing isn’t at least partly commendable.”

“I don’t think switching sides for self preservation is all that noble.” She stuck her nose in the air, arms crossing over his chest tighter. She was practically holding herself. 

“I never said I was a bloody Gryffindor.”

She snapped her eyes back to him. “Don’t you dare try and manipulate me into House hate right now. Theo and Pansy came to us of their own volition, way before we started having victories.”

“You think they’re the exception to the rule.” He continued to bait her, but she refused to give in. He didn’t know that she had long dropped her hate for Slytherin. Things were always more complicated than they seemed. Still, he did know how to push her buttons. She was blinded by anger. He  _ reveled  _ in her loss of control. 

“You’re still prejudiced!” she screamed.

Malfoy stood stock still. That’s what all this had been. She hadn’t even realized it until this moment, if the surprise in her face was anything to go by. He felt her Occlumency shields immediately shoot up. 

“This is about you being muggle born?”

“Don’t be thick, Malfoy. It doesn’t suit you.” She dropped her gaze, tongue shooting out to wet her lips. “The entirety of the war is about muggle borns. I can’t even go out in public anymore, even if I wasn’t a wanted criminal.”

Malfoy shook his head. “You know that’s not truly why this war happened.”

“But that’s the premise, isn’t it? There’s a reason he started with us. Even if Tom wasn’t just a mad man who thrived on chaos, the Death Eaters would still have their prejudices. They get what they want, either way.” The words mudblood floated through their tether. The scar at her wrist flashed in his mind and she gripped her fist. He eyed the motion suspiciously. 

“Do you really think I’d be here if I felt that way?”

“Yes.” She didn’t feel the need to elaborate.

“My pride’s much too big for that.”

“Then say it.”

His brow furrowed. “Say what?”

“That you don’t think I’m lesser than you.”

He stood there, hand reached out as if he wanted to touch her. His mouth remained stubbornly shut. He had cornered her into a wall somehow, and her large gaze was set upon him. Her chin trembled only a moment before she pushed past him and walked swiftly out the door, slamming it behind her.

\---

It was hours later when he finally worked up the gall to approach her. She was sitting on the edge of the roof, cold wind whipping her wild hair. He walked up slowly before taking a seat beside her, much closer than would be socially acceptable for any normal pair of people.

But they weren’t normal.

He could feel her anguish the entire time as he hid in his room, pacing back and forth like a mad man. His hands were twitchy and his chest burned with the urge to run and comfort her. Eventually Theo had come in, saying something about him putting a hole in the floor with all the pacing, and with the door now opened he could see down the hallway. His urge was suddenly too strong and he rushed out of it before he had even finished speaking.

“I obliviated my parents the summer after fourth year.”

He turned his head sharply towards her, eyes wide. He knew that she had relocated her family. He had been a part of the raid that had happened on her house shortly after she wiped Dolohov’s memory, and the Dark Lord was furious to find it empty. He had taken a particular interest in Granger after that, probably peeved a 17 year old seemed to always be one step ahead.

She was still looking ahead, legs swinging absentmindedly, but he could feel her pain. She had become an expert at masking her emotions. If he couldn’t feel them, she might even be able to fool him. His fingers twitched with the urge to envelope touch her.

“Harry and Ron know I did it, but they never knew how early on it happened. They think I went home the summer after sixth year, spent some last few moments with them and then did it.” She wrapped a finger around one of her curls, and his eyes dropped, following the motion. 

“I couldn’t bear to tell them any differently. Harry puts every consequence of this war on his shoulders, and Ron would fall to pieces if he knew. His family means everything to him, and now that includes me. I suppose it always has, since first year, but after he found out about what I’d done in order to save my parent’s lives, he made especially sure that I was included in all Weasley shenanigans.”

Tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks, but her voice was void of all emotions. She continued to look out on the horizon as she spoke.

“When Tom first came back, I knew it had to be done. I was so scared I would come home that summer and they would be dead. I ran off the train and threw myself in their arms and sobbed, but I couldn’t tell them why.

“I spent three days with them, laughing and cooking and dancing around the house like we didn’t have a care in the world. I suppose they didn’t. If they could tell something was wrong with me, they never mentioned it. I assume they thought I’d tell them in due time.” She let out a small laugh, but her face was pure anguish.

“I hadn’t even unpacked. I didn’t see the point.” She was trembling now, tiny shoulders shaking with repressed anguish that was seeping into his chest through the cracks in her Occlumency shields. A wound that hadn’t healed, probably never would. “I waited until it was night time. I snuck into their room and left them with tickets to somewhere else, where I assume they are now living. I can’t be sure; I haven’t checked up on them.”

“What about the trace?” His voice was barely above a whisper, too scared to break the fragile atmosphere if he spoke too loud.

She shrugged. Tears were rolling off her jaw. She didn’t move to wipe them away and he tightened his fingers on the concrete so he wouldn’t. “I hired someone to do it for me. They were trustworthy and didn’t ask why. Even if they wanted to come back and try and blackmail me about it, they've no idea where my parents are now.”

“What did you do for breaks after that?”

“I stayed at the Burrow, mostly. They never asked questions and Ginny was always willing to share her space with me. They’ve done a great job being a surrogate family, but on days like today I just want my parents. Not even to talk about everything, because obviously they’d lose their minds, but just… to sit with and hug and maybe even cry with.”

“I’m sorry.” He was, for a million things, but right here and now, he was sorry for the crack in her chest that this war had created.

“It’s so unfair. Sometimes I think that if I wasn’t Harry’s friend then maybe my parents could have fared okay. I still would have joined the Order, probably, but I’d be a no name witch. I wouldn’t pop up on any Death Eater’s radars and maybe I’d even be able to keep in light contact with them.” The tears were flowing heavily now and even her voice was thick with them, but still she continued on.

“I always feel so guilty afterwards. It’s not Harry’s fault and he’s done everything he possibly could to protect those he loved from the heartache of loss.” She looked him in the eyes then and he forced himself to not flinch away. 

“I love Harry. I would never change anything that brought me here. He’s my best friend and he deserves so much more and he needs me. He needs me because he can’t carry the burden of this alone.”

He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his chest, where she began sobbing. “It’s not your job to carry it either. There’s all these people here that want to help. You can’t be responsible for all of them.”

She shook her head, burying it further into his shirt. His hands came up and ran soothing fingers through her hair.

“You know what this war can do once it starts infecting you. The less people are exposed to that, the safer humanity will be when it’s all over.”

“But if you destroy yourself in the process—”

“Then it’s only one person destroyed as opposed to hundreds!” She pushed against him then, standing up. He watched as she paced back and forth over the concrete floor, arms crossed protectively over her chest.

“You can’t protect everyone here, Granger. It’s not possible; the war is too large scale.”

“I will protect as many as I can,” she declared, passion lighting up in her eyes. “Ron and Harry may be too far gone, but I will do anything I can to keep humanity intact.”

Draco stood then before rushing over to her and throwing his arms around her before she could protest. He was tired, too tired to fight the aching in his chest that begged him to comfort his bound partner.

“Bloody Gryffindors,” was all he murmured. They stood like that for a while, locked in a tight embrace that they both knew was wrong. The bind was rooting, he could practically feel his core integrating deeper with hers. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care, not when he could feel the tension leaving her shoulders and hear the dry heaves stifle.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione obliviating parents the summer before fifth year was actually a headcanon I saw on tumblr that I immediately accepted as fact. If someone knows of it, PLEASE link it to me. I want to give credit where credit’s due but I CAN’T FIND IT.  
> The second part of this chapter was written very shortly after the Hermione x Draco infirmary scene. I think I finished this before I even finished the third chapter. It’s one of my favorite moments between the two of them, because they’re both so emotionally stunted and Hermione is such an expert at hiding her emotions. Even sitting there, sobbing and breaking down she is still able to convince Draco, for a bit at least, that she’s holding it together.  
> Writing Draco POV chapters is so hard. Draco is such a tough character to write because he’s not emotionless necessarily, but he is nuanced. I’m not a nuanced person so it’s really hard to me to adapt to those types of characters. But I really started feeling my flow here. This is where I truly think the quality of my chapters improve.


	15. TWIST!

Hermione and Malfoy spent the next weeks skirting by each other and avoiding eye contact. Their display on the roof was something that brought heat to her cheeks everytime she thought about it, and despite her best attempts to Occlude it into the dark recesses in her mind, it seemed to always drift forward. Her mind was no longer a flat surface with endless corners to hide things behind. It was now deep and dark; endless. Pushing and pulling and fighting like the ocean currents. 

Hermione hated it. It made things much more difficult to Occlude. She had to put herself in a metaphorical boat with the memory, row herself against the tide and mounting waves, and then sink the memory into the dark, deep water. Sometimes even that wasn’t enough. Sometimes it floated to the top, drifting forward until it reached the shoreline. Then she’d have to complete the process all over. 

It was exhausting, and frankly it wasn’t worth it for most of the things she wanted to put away. She hadn’t realized how dependent she had become on Occlumency until she was forced to put such an effort forward. She was emotional and jumpy now. She woke up to nightmares for the first time in years just days after the incident on the rooftop. They were incessant, showing her of all the torture she had endured and reminding her she wasn’t as strong as she pretended to be.

When Malfoy knocked on her door in the midst of her rowing against the giant waves of her mind, she jumped and gasped. He entered without her permission and she huffed in irritation. Not because he had entered, of  _ course  _ her bloody bind would convince her she was happy to see him. No, she was irritated with herself for just allowing him to saunter in his room, like they were friends or something.

“Friends, no.” Malfoy plopped down on the bed beside her, picking up her muggle magazine before grimacing and tossing it onto the floor. “But I am glad to see you’re so torturously upset about not hating me.”

“I am  _ mad,”  _ she emphasized, “because my thoughts and feelings are no longer my own, and while I’m aware this is all by my doing, it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it; or discuss it with you.”

“But everyone else is.”

Hermione tilted her head, brows knitted in confusion.

“Happy about being bound, that is.”

“Well, not everyone is us. We hate each other.” Hermione folded her legs beneath her and leant against Malfoy’s shoulder. She didn’t care about the semantics anymore. She was bloody tired.

“Theo and Ginny hated each other, did they not?”

Hermione reached for the parchment by her bedside table. She hadn’t finished her third read through for tonight’s raid and she wanted to make sure she was prepared. They were in need of supplies and tonight’s run through would be of the utmost importance to their survival. It was going to be dangerous, and she needed to play her part carefully.

Malfoy plucked the paper out of her hands and tossed that on the ground as well. She sat up straight and glared at him. “What is it with you and throwing my possessions like they have no value?”

“Answer my question.”

“Ginny and Theo are not you and I, so I hardly feel the need to compare and contrast our relationships. If you’d like, you may draw a Venn Diagram.”

Malfoy sat up and placed his elbows on his knees. “But I think if you—”

He was interrupted by the door bursting open, and Hermione was ready to lay into the intruder that her room didn’t have a revolving door, but she froze.

“Fred.” Her spine stiffened and she ran a hand through her curls absentmindedly. 

“Do you always come in without knocking?” Malfoy’s voice rang into her mind. She whipped her head to see his eyes taking in the scene before him like a predator ready to pounce. She swallowed, cursing her changing mind because she  _ knew  _ her emotions were written all over her face.

“Usually, but it’s quite rare to find another man in her bed already.” 

“ _ Fred.”  _ Hermione could kill him, if she could reach him. She settled for one of her patented death glares. He didn't seem to mind, just leant against the door and crossed his feet at his ankles.

“Weasley,” Malfoy said, as if he was meeting someone worthy of his intellect for the first time. “What are you doing here?”

It wasn’t like Malfoy to be so straightforward. Hermione tensed. 

“Just a pre-raid tradition we like to partake in.”

“ _ Fred.”  _ Hermione’s voice contained all the venom she could force into it.

Malfoy’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, do tell.”

She stood. Her head whipped back and forth between the two boys. She hesitated only a second longer before shoving Fred out of her door and slamming it shut.

“What,” she seethed out between her teeth, “do you think you’re doing?”

“I was just filling Malfoy in. You know, trying my hand at this honesty thing you’re always raving about.” His words were short and his expression closed off. She recognized that look.

“You’re Occluding,” she realized. “You never use your Occlumency unless we’re on the battlefront.”

Fred averted her eyes. “Well, maybe I’m giving that a go too.”

He turned to leave and Hermione grabbed his shoulder, pushing him back against the wall.

"What’s your problem?”

He sighed, but still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Will you just stop by later on, if you want?”

Hermione nodded and watched as he disappeared down the hall. She was still reeling from the insanity of it all when she re-entered her room.

“How many Weasley’s have you slept with?” Malfoy’s voice cut through her confusion and sent a pang of guilt to her core. He must have felt it, because he stood up quickly and eyed her warily.

“Just one.”

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. “But I always thought—”

“A dangerous past time for you—”

“Weren’t you and the ogre Weasley—”

“If you’re talking about Ron—”

“—destined to be or some shit—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I beg you to stop that train of thought immediately.” She sighed and plopped down on her bed once more, head nearly hitting the wall. She glanced to the side, up at Malfoy. “Sit down and maybe I’ll tell you a thing or two.”

Malfoy hesitated. “Your walls—”

“What walls? I’m the damn ocean.” Maybe it was time she embraced the change. “Are you going to listen, or not? Because if you’d like to leave then I assure you I have back up plans arranged.”

Malfoy sat, perhaps a moment too quick, but if he was going to ignore her crazy, scattered mind then she could make her own concessions.

“You and Weasel,” he began with a perplexed look on his face. “You two were the will-they-won’t-they couple of Hogwarts beginning at third year.”

“Yes,” Hermione conceded. “Turns out, we won’t.”

“Why?”

“Ron and I—” she sighed and grabbed a curl to play with. “We watched Harry and Ginny throughout the last semester of sixth year. They were so happy and then— nothing. They were done and then we were all on the run together. Harry talked about Ginny all the time, and Ron listened to that bloody radio to ensure she was still alive. It was torture, watching the war tear them apart.”

Malfoy was watching her intently, no sign of a smirk or even a teasing glint in his eyes. She continued on. “They reunited after the Battle of Hogwarts, but it wasn’t happy. They  _ needed _ each other. It wasn’t about love and happiness— not to say they didn’t have those moments as well— but they leaned on each other during their lowest, most miserable moments. And no matter what the future holds, those events, those memories, will always be the catalyst that started their relationship. It will always be dark, a little tainted.”

She sighed. “Ron and I considered it for a bit, but we decided we didn’t want our relationship to be war torn. We said that after the war was over, after all the dust had settled, if we still wanted it, then we could be with each other.”

“So he’s still holding out for you?”

Hermione bit her lip, eyes falling into her lap. “I think he pretends like he is, but we both know it’s not right anymore, if it ever was. We wanted a relationship that wasn’t tainted by the war, but five years in I don’t think there’s going to be anything left untouched.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, brow raising appraisingly. “So you sleep with his brother.”

“No, thank you very much. That is  _ not  _ what happened.”

“Just fell on his cock then?”

Hermione’s jaw dropped in shock and she snapped it shut before reaching over and twisting his ear. He hissed in pain and slid two feet lower on her bed.

“I think that’s enough of a heart to heart with you, then.” She hopped up and headed for the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“Granger, you couldn’t possibly—”

“And why not?” she asked, fingers wrapped around the cool handle. “It’s as Fred said. Tradition.” With that, she was out the door and flitting down the hallway, sneaking into the closed door before she could think about it.

\---

When Hermione was exiting Fred’s room a few hours later, dressed in her raid gear and preparing to head up to the roof, Malfoy was leaning against the wall, waiting for her.

“Feel better?” His smirk was in place, but his eyes were appraising her. 

“Are you sure you’ll be able to come tonight? What if someone notices you?”

Malfoy waved his hand. “It’s a low security facility. Honestly, the Dark Lord isn’t so concerned with sustenance.” Draco paused, head quirking sideways. “I’m not quite sure he even eats.”

Hermione began her trek upwards, not turning to see if Malfoy was following or not. “Shouldn’t you at least wear a mask or something? It seems rather arrogant of you to think you can infiltrate Death Eater grounds, on the Order’s command, and not get caught.”

“If the freshly recruited seventh year Hogwarts students truly have the gall to report me to the Dark Lord, they will find themselves freshly crucio’d and, possibly, left for dead.”

Hermione turned a horrified glance on him. “I will not allow you to crucio anyone just because you’re too lazy to transfigure your hair into a different color.”

“It wouldn’t be me doing it.” 

She stopped right outside the door and raised her eyebrows, urging him to explain.

“I have an alibi for tonight. I’m faithfully with my father, protecting the Swiss minister’s daughter.”

“And how do you know your father will cover for you?”

Draco grinned. “Because he’s skiving off his duties as well. Neither of us want the Dark Lord to know what we’re doing, therefore we will report we were at our post, outside the minister’s house all night, just like we were assigned.”

Hermione appraised him for a moment, lips pursed in thought. “There just might be a brain in there yet.” Then she opened the door and scurried to her post. 

Malfoy followed her at a much slower pace, nodding at Theo and begrudgingly letting Pansy wrap him into a spine crushing hug. She held back laughter as he pretended to hate her doting. Merlin, would it physically hurt him to let people know he cared?

Hermione was looking forward to being able to duel with Malfoy at her side tonight. It certainly eliminated another complicated factor and would allow her to focus on the mission at hand. Winter was coming, and all of this was about to grow even more complicated, as it always did with the snow. Summer seemed to be the best time for battles and raids; all Voldemort’s attacks fell dormant in the colder seasons. This could be their last chance to truly do some damage.

When the signal was given to apparate, Hermione grabbed Draco’s arm and spun, landing on hard ground and eyeing the looming building before them.

Harry sent off his Patronus, followed by the rest of the Order members, and then they were all splitting off and heading to their assigned spots. 

Malfoy and Hermione were on take out duty. Meaning, any and all Death Eaters they came by were to be immediately and discreeetly stunned. It was estimated that there were around seventy very young and inexperienced recruits covering this base. There were only twelve of them on this mission. 

Still, their much higher skill level, in addition to their multiple years in battle would give them a strong advantage over the teenagers here. 

They were able to quickly take out twelve wizards that were casually patrolling with simple stunners. They worked out a system without any words exchanged. Hermione sent the spell and Malfoy would drag the bodies off to the treeline and wait for the next person to come walking along.

Hermione eyed the growing pile of unconscious bodies. “No point in taking any of these hostage, then?” There were about thirty bodies lined neatly on the hard ground.

“Not unless you fancy having blubbering teenagers in your care, snarling at you about your gross blood.”

Hermione pursed her lips, pretending to consider. “Not when I have you, thanks.”

They continued on like this for another hour or so. It wasn’t hard work, but it was tedious. No alarm bells had been rung yet even though they were now missing more than half their forces. Hermione was shocked Voldemort was acting so carelessly. These recruits didn’t seem to have undergone any training. They patrolled in predictable patterns and practically stomped down their paths. It was all too easy to take them down. It was pathetic, really.

To her right, a flash of blue was shot into the air. Hermione huffed a breath.

“Time to go.” She turned towards where Malfoy was moving their last body only to find him gone.

“Malfoy?” Her voice was a whisper and she couldn’t help the tendrils of concern that laced her tone. 

She honed in on their bind, using it to locate him. She walked slowly towards where it was drawing her, wand drawn and Occlumency shields in place.

Behind her she heard a twig crack. She spun around, throwing up a  _ protego  _ before the splash of green could hit. She followed up with a drowning spell, and saw the man duck and roll behind a tree. Hermione sliced the tree down with a flick of her wand and cast a contusion hex with all her might.

This man was good; obviously not new like the others. He was a skilled dueler and didn’t hesitate with throwing Unforgivables. One wrong move and Hermione would be dead; or worse, captured.

Malfoy wasn’t reaching out to her, and she couldn’t feel him nearby. He had to know she was dueling someone, yet he hadn’t come to assist. Her stomach twisted with dread as she dodged another killing curse. 

All the others had probably returned to Head Quarters. Their orders were to apparate as soon as the signal was sent, and if she would just hop behind a tree she would have no problem leaving. But she couldn’t. Malfoy was still here. 

Eventually, after what felt like hours had passed, Hermione caught the masked fighter with a slicing hex to the chest. Blood poured from his shirt and he fell to the dirt. Hermione ran up to him and poked her wand into his throat threateningly.

“Drop your wand.” Her voice was menacing. There was no room for debate. Still, he wasn’t going to give in that easily. 

“Fuck you, mudblood.”

Hermione released a stinging hex directly onto his skin. She was fired up; high off her bind and adrenaline. She put all her energy into it.

The man yelped and fell to the ground. Hermione snatched his fallen wand and pocketed it before turning her gaze back on him.

He was writhing on the ground. Hermione’s hand reached out, but she paused. Hesitating.

He was older than the others, taller. His wand movements were sure, as if he had been well practiced. He seemed young, but it was hard to tell when his mask was on. All she could go by was the dark skin peeking out from where her spells had ripped his clothing. 

She risked a lot if she took his mask off. She would have to make a decision then. If this man was someone who they could possibly glean any information from, then she’d have to take him with her. She’d have to endure his torrent of insults and threats, which honestly weren’t that big of a deal, but she was tired. She hardly wanted to babysit a want to be Death Eater while he screamed about spilling her dirty blood all night. 

But the risk was even greater if she didn’t at least check. She could jeopardize the Order and everything they fought for. So she flicked her wand and tied up the man and knelt down beside him.

“Mudblood cunt,” he hissed out. He was clearly in pain. Hermione didn’t have it in her to feel bad.

She ripped off the mask, studying the face beneath as wisps of recognition teased at her brain. Her eyes widened when it hit her.

She closed her eyes and sent a message to Malfoy through their bind. There was no pain flooding through their tether so she knew he was alive, and mostly unharmed. She was going to have to leave without him.

She tugged the man to his feet, struggling as he fought against her stronghold.

“If you don’t stand still then I’ll splinch you when we apparate.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” He continued to try and escape, despite his tied hands and legs. Hermione jerked him roughly to her side.

“Then maybe you should have been better at dueling.” She turned on the spot.

When she landed in the Scotland safehouse, screams tore from the prisoner’s throat. 

His right arm was hanging on by just a few pieces of skin. Hermione grit her teeth and attempted to take a deep, cleansing breath. The stench of blood ruined it.

“I  _ told  _ you what would happen, but you had to remain stubborn.”

She conjured a patronus. Her otter bounced happily in front of her. “Tell Harry he’s needed in Scots. Bring the crew and some healing supplies.” With that, the otter corkscrewed out of sight.

She began silently sewing the arm back on with trembling hands. The entire situation had her a bit shaken and the adrenaline that thrummed through her veins was beginning to wear off. 

Below her, the man had fallen unconscious; probably from a mixture of blood loss and pain. She avoided looking at his face. Her breathing was shallow and she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her head. It was so loud she didn’t even hear as Harry apparated in, followed by about six others.

“What’s going—” Harry dropped to his knees.

“Godric,” he whispered, eyeing the body. Everyone else stood in stoic silence. Hermione didn’t look up, to see their faces, but she could feel Pansy’s eyes. She hoped Theo hadn’t come. His wolf wouldn’t handle this well.

She took the medical supplies out of Harry’s quivering palms and continued to work without a single word exchanged. 

By the time she was finished and cleaning up, Draco buzzed to life through their tether. He was thrumming with concern for her distraught.

Within seconds, he had apparated to the house.

“Granger, what could have—” She stood up and spun, blocking his view of the ground. Harry stood next to her.

“Something’s happened,” she whispered breathlessly.

He strode up to her and grabbed her forearms strongly. He appraised her silently, eyeing her palms. “Is that your blood?”

She shook her head. “You went missing and when I was searching for you I was attacked. I began battling and—”

“Are you okay?” His hands twitched and the concern in his voice was  _ real.  _

_ Everyone can see it,  _ she thought. They know he cares.

“I’m fine. I took him down and took off his mask and then apparated him here to be healed.”

“Why would you—” he peered over her shoulder and glanced down at the body  _ finally. _

His grip on her arms tightened, but his face remained impassive. 

“Zabini,” she blurted out. “I captured Blaise Zabini.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said it once and I'll say it again: in an AU of this AU this is a Fred x Hermione fic and someone needs to write it! Not me, I think this fic is going to kill me before I ever got the chance.  
> Blaise was not originally in this fic, but then I started thinking about how most fics include/focus on either Blaise OR Theo and I just did not want to be That Fic. I brainstormed for about five seconds and this is what I came up with. I'm quite happy with my execution of it, actually.  
> A note about Crabbe and Goyle, since they're the only ones really mentioned in the books: I like to think that Draco had them around to build himself and his confidence up, but behind closed doors he found a real kinship with Blaise and Theo. They're much more important to him.  
> Tomorrow is probably my favorite chapter as of yet! I'm so excited to share it with you all!


	16. Grey Area pt. II

Hours later, just a few moments before the sun would breach the horizon, Hermione and Malfoy sat on the cold, wooden floor, crowding over Zabini’s cot. They had just finished cleaning the blood and dirt off of him, sent the rest of the group back to headquarters to get some rest and were now securing the wards around the room.

“He doesn’t have the mark,” she noted casually. She watched as Malfoy’s shoulders stiffened. His face remained forcefully relaxed.

“I’ve put a lot of effort into making sure that’s the case. Every time his name popped up I carried on about his immaturity and lack of ability.”

“He’s skilled,” she said, fingering his wand in her pocket.

“Yes, but he’s never gotten a real chance to show it off. The Dark Lord always took my word and has kept him in low ranks.”

Hermione turned away, raising her wand to continue with the wards on the room. “Does he know you were protecting him?”

Draco barked out a laugh. “Did he open his mouth at you at all?”

Hermione nodded. “He has quite a limited vocabulary.”

Draco’s eyes lingered on Zabini’s form, which now looked so young when he was tucked into the sheets. “He wasn’t always so hateful, but after Theo and Pansy… well he was just angry. The people around him ran with it, filling his head with thoughts that weren’t his and telling him what he needed to do to avenge them.” He turned away, pushing off the ground to stand.

“He took his anger and morphed it into something ugly. Watching him become this… I think it’s what kicked me out of my own reverie. I realized I hadn’t a clue what I had been fighting for, and then once I was sure I didn’t even believe in the cause, I was in too deep.” His eyes met her, blazing with fury and passion. “But I could save Blaise. He hasn’t killed anyone, or even been in any major battles.”

Hermione tried not to let any surprise show on her face. His confession was as close to admittance that they’d ever gotten. She tried not to think about their bound magical cores, or what part it might play in Draco Malfoy becoming harder to hate. She wasn’t sure how she felt about a world where Malfoy wasn’t evil.

“Just because he hasn’t sullied his hands doesn’t mean he’s saved. The way he was talking to me, the pure hatred in his eyes…” She pulled out his wand and studied it. Hawthorn. Twelve inches. Nothing out of the ordinary. How a wand so normal could function with someone so full of rage for things he didn’t understand, Hermione couldn’t fathom.

“Theo and Pansy never gave up on me.” He shifted behind her, and Hermione turned to see him walking back towards Zabini’s bed. “They spent two years discreetly watching me from the battlefields, seeing me climbing ranks and the power I got from it.” He took a pair of handcuffs out of his robe pockets, the same ones he had used on Ginny the night of the full moon. “I’ve killed people. I’ve tortured people. For no reason except doing as I was told. I thought I was the smart one. I thought I was better than everyone in the Order because I was fighting for a better future for myself. You lot were just fighting because you could. 

“I hated that. I hated seeing how much spirit and optimism you had when that had been crushed out of me at such a young age. I thought it made me smarter than you, more mature at least. But then while watching Blaise I realized I was  _ exactly  _ what I had made you out to be in my own head. I did as I was told, when I was told and I didn’t think to question why.”

Hermione watched as Draco took Zabini’s wrist and hooked it in the handcuff, clipping the other side to the bed frame. He then took his wand out, pointing to the bottom of the cot and muttered a sticking charm.

“Careful, Malfoy. You almost sound as if you’re siding with the light.”

Malfoy kept his eyes glued on Zabini’s limp wrist. “I’ve no side in this war,” he murmured. “It’s just me I’m looking out for.”

If Hermione and Malfoy had a real relationship then she would have probably disagreed. It was right there, on the tip of her tongue. Her mouth was poised open to say it before she came to herself and snapped it shut with a click. This was  _ Malfoy.  _ They weren’t friends. They didn’t see eye to eye. If there was ever the delusion of that it was because of his self hatred that was pouring through their tether to her. He wasn’t even trying to keep his Occlumency shields up, she noticed. When did that start?

“Do you think he’ll have any useful information?”

“None that I haven’t already provided you, though I can’t tell you what he was doing at the food stores tonight. Only the lowest of ranks take watch there.”

Hermione eyed him. “Curious.”

Malfoy remained silent and sullen. He was contemplative, in deep thought as he gazed down regretfully at his old friend. What was that expression? Shock? Dismay?

“What do we do with him, then?” 

The options were endless, though none of them were ideal. They could send him back, but that led to the risk of him spreading what and who he’d seen. Hermione hadn’t mentioned where she was taking him, but if he had listened to her Patronus message to Harry then it wouldn’t be all too difficult to figure it out. Even with a proper Obliviation, there still ran the risk of his memories being uncovered if he was savvy enough to find a skilled Healer.

If Blaise  _ was  _ sent back, healed and healthy then there would be suspicions. But Hermione couldn’t leave him injured and dying. The look on Pansy’s face, the fear that flooded Draco’s system were all factors that pushed her to fix the damage she had wracked upon him. Because of his capture there would surely be consequences. What that entailed, Hermione wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t imagine they would be pleasant.

Was she able to send back someone she knew, someone she went to school with, knowing that they would be tortured or killed? She knew she had done it in the past, but looking at Draco and the way he spoke about Zabini, this all felt like a different issue. 

Could she do that to him?

“We bind him.”

Hermione spun on him, eyebrows raised and jaw dropped. “Pardon?”

Draco looked up to her from where he crouched. His eyes were blazing, silver alight with something that caused her to take a step back. 

“If we send him back then he dies. There’s no reason we can’t let him stay. He doesn’t have the Mark so there’s no way the Dark Lord will search for him. It could take weeks for anyone to even notice he went missing. It’s not like they keep the most organized collection of all their enrolled soldiers.”

Hermione twirled a curl around her finger as her mouth opened and closed several times, trying to cope with what Malfoy was saying. His eyes dropped to follow the motion. 

“So the man that you just used dark artifact handcuffs on to ensure he doesn’t escape… you want the Order to bind him to another member?”

“Not quite dark magic,” he recited in a droll tone.

“Stop throwing that phrase back in my face!”

Malfoy stood, turning until they were facing each other head on. “Well it’s all just semantics, isn’t it? It’s either Dark Magic, or it isn’t.”

“There’s a grey area—”

Malfoy balked. “Grey area? Is that what you call it?”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and averted eye contact. “We aren’t using Unforgivables. We aren’t outright killing—”

“So you think those grey area curses you throw are any better than the Death Curse? Let’s just look at your contusion curse, shall we? The one where you aim your wand at a life sustaining organ and then release a spell with enough force that it explodes? Do you really think that’s any better than simply falling dead?”

Hermione dropped her eyes to the floor. 

“What about the mucus spell that Theo and Ginny seem to throw with no care? It fills the person’s lungs with mucus until they drown in it. That one is probably the worst. It’s slow. Sometimes they’re able to apparate back to the manor before they even realize they’re dying.”

“Malfoy—”

“You should see their faces,” he began, walking slowly towards her, closing the space between them until she had no choice but to back into the corner furthest away from the bed. “They think they’ve made it. Then the coughing starts, and all of the sudden they’re choking on it. It’s coming out of their nose, their ears. They’re scratching at their throats like if they could claw it open then it would all come tumbling out and then they could live.”

He was breathing heavily, towering over Hermione like he was ready to hit her. She closed her eyes and braced her hands on the wall behind her.

“That’s what the Light side does now. So when I say that we need to bind him and not send him back to the Dark Lord because of the punishments he will face, believe me when I tell you they’re worse than anything you guys have thrown.”

The waves in Hermione’s mind were crashing against her rocky shore. The roaring in her ears drowned out all outside noise. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter as she attempted to calm the ocean. She willed away the cloudy skies that threatened rain. She thought of Harry and Ron and Ginny laughing in the Great Hall while Errol crashed into the sausages at breakfast. She willed herself to remember the last few days with her parents, their laugh, their voices until she was filled with the love she had hidden away so many years ago.

She thought of a white blonde head, embracing her in her weakest moments, pouring into her all the emotions she never thought she’d be able to feel anymore.

The sun appeared in her mind and she opened her eyes.

“Binding him does not guarantee that he will stay loyal to the Order.” Her voice was breathless and it was only then that she realized her chest was heaving. Malfoy was still towering over her, standing so close that on every inhale her chest grazed his. He was looking down on her with narrowed eyes, but deep inside she felt their tether twinge with concern, and something else she couldn’t identify.

“It’s what you did to ensure Pansy and Theo wouldn’t leave. You told me being a double agent wasn’t enough, and here we are.”

“And you’re loyal to the Order?”

“I’m loyal to you.”

It slipped out, an omission because he wasn’t Occluding. She felt his walls slam into place and she flinched against the cold, empty tether.

“You all came to the Order of your own will, looking for something that we could offer. Zabini is still loyal to Tom.”

“Binding him will change that.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Yes, I do. He won’t be able to turn on the person he’s bound to. His views will switch without him even realizing.”

Hermione’s chin raised to meet his gaze. “Is that what happened to you?”

It was no use. He was a brick wall, no room for anything to seep through. “My views haven’t changed since I reached out to the Order.”

Hermione dropped her eyes and tapped her fingers nervously on the wall behind her. “The hatred in his soul might reach out and taint the person he’s bound to. That wouldn’t be fair to them.”

Draco leaned in closer, dropping his head to catch her eyes. “That won’t happen if they’re compatible.”

“But—”

“The bind can’t create anything that isn’t already there.”

Hermione’s breath caught.

“That’s what you said, right?” He straightened himself and ran his hands through his hair. “That’s why our bind roots when we argue. Because we  _ like  _ arguing. We enjoy being challenged. It’s why we both equally refuse to seek each other out, and then pretend like we don’t notice when the other one is making an effort. You don’t comment on my shaking hands and I ignore your excitement when I walk into a room.”

Hermione shot him a glare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He pointed a finger at her, smirk spreading across his face. “That’s exactly it. We’re both equally as shite with our emotions. We  _ work  _ as partners.”

Hermione pursed her lips, eyes turned up in thought. He wasn’t bringing up any points she hadn’t already known. The bind wouldn’t stick with anyone whose cores weren’t alike.  _ If  _ Zabini were to be compatible with someone in the Order, then it wouldn’t be a bad way to keep track of him. It would, at least, be a way to find him on the slim chance he did try and escape.

“I’ll talk to Moody and Kingsley.” She glanced around at the lifeless from on the bed. She could almost pretend he wasn’t full of hate, she thought once more. “But I make no promises.”

“Excellent, I’ll come with you.” He headed to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

“No, you need to go back to the Manor and do your double agent part of this arrangement.” She slapped his hand away, smirking when he let out a hiss of pain.

“There’s nothing to catch up on. Like I said, this will go down as a minor infraction. The Dark Lord couldn’t care less about rations or young recruits too dense to throw up a  _ protego.”  _

“Malfoy.”

Her brows were raised, and when his eyes met hers he spent a moment searching before he turned them up towards the ceiling, releasing an exasperated sigh.

“You could have just said you didn’t want me around, you know.”

Instinctively her hand flew to his cheek. She immediately wanted to pull away, but then that would lead to him taunting her in one way or the other. So she held it there firmly, thumbing his rough stubble.

“I will talk with them. I will get a date. I will send someone here to watch over Zabini. Until then, stay the fuck away, okay?”

He clenched his jaw so tightly that Hermione heard several tiny pops. Without another word, he turned away and stormed out the door.

\---

“No.”

Moody hadn’t looked up from the parchment he was scribbling furiously on, but his voice left no room for argument.

Still, Hermione soldiered on.

“We shouldn’t give up on the opportunity to have another bound pair fighting on the battlefield.”

“I’ll not risk this entire operation just to satisfy Malfoy’s need to save someone for the first time in his life.” He dropped the quill and glared up to where she was standing, hands fisted at her sides. “That’s not what the Order is for.”

Hermione perked up at that. “Isn’t that kind of a lie?”

Kingsley raised a brow. Moody broke into a scowl.

“I just mean to say,” she began, pushing down her anxiety into the sea of her mind, “that the Order is fighting for the right for all witches and wizards to be able to practice magic freely, right?”

“We’re at war, Granger. Until Riddle is dead. That’s why we fight.”

“But why are we at war?” she countered. “Because Tom thinks muggleborns are scum. Don’t you think the more reformed Death Eaters we have, the better?”

“I couldn’t care at all about reformity. Zabini could burn for all I’m concerned.” Moody turned back to his document, and Hermione recognized her dismissal. Kingsley merely pressed his lips together in the form of pity. 

She saw Draco’s desperate eyes in her mind. He had complete and total faith in Zabini. That meant she did, too.

“Give him a chance. If we send him back, he dies. If he screws up here, then we can decide what actions need to be taken. But Moody,” she walked over to the table, slamming her hands down hard enough that Moody’s quill rattled. She waited for him to raise his eyes to her blazing stare. “He’s a skilled fighter. If our bind works as well as we think it does, and you  _ know  _ it does, then having his wand on our side can only benefit the Order.”

It wasn’t all true, not exactly. There were so many risks that they faced if this was agreed upon. Hermione didn’t need to tell him that. She could see him studying it as he sat silently. He was weighing the pros and cons in his head, deciding if it was truly worth it. Her eyes shifted to Kingsley. He gave her a silent thumbs up. Good, one down, one to go.

“If you’re so convinced of this, then Zabini will be  _ your  _ project. You’ll be in charge of guarding him and ensuring his loyalty is to the Order.”

Moody stood, hobbling over to the door. He turned as it swung open. “Constant vigilance!”

Hermione released a breath after he was gone. 

“Well, how much of what you said do you actually believe?”

She spun around to see Kinglsey standing, slowly gathering the parchments and storing them away. 

“The bind will keep him loyal. Of that I’m sure. As for the rest… well, Theo and Pansy came around, didn’t they?”

Kingsley nodded. “Malfoy as well.”

Hermione scoffed, staring down at the warped wood panels. “Malfoy’s just in it for himself. If things ever change favors he’ll be a triple spy for Tom.”

Kingsley studied her for a moment, eyes flicking between hers before dropping them and locking the drawer.

Hermione, I think you might just be wrong about that one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I said last night that this is my favorite chapter so far, and I lied. My favorite chapter will be posted on Update Sunday. BUT I think this chapter has a lot of really great moments that I truly love.
> 
> Any guesses on how Blaise will bind with? Can’t wait to show you alll!


	17. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midnight here in Florida... Happy update Sunday!

“Finnegan.”

“Yes.”

“The git who was always blowing things up?”

“Or catching them on fire.” She hesitated, biting her lip before continuing on. “He did amazing things using both of those  _ talents  _ at the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“Yes,” Malfoy drawled, eyes cast to the ceiling as if the Gods themselves might grant him more patience. “And what has he done since then?”

Theo, lovely Theo, who always knew what to say and when to say it, decided to chime in. “He stitched my arm back on after it had been nearly severed by a Death Eater.” Theo paused. “Wait, now that I think about it, it was you that fired that slicing hex. Fuck you, Malfoy.”

Hermione sighed. 

“It’s not my fault you and Pansy have been glamouring yourselves. I thought I was just killing some unimportant Order member.”

Theo glared towards Draco as Ginny wrapped a supportive arm around his waist. “Well now you know it was your unimportant  _ best friend.” _

Malfoy stared dumbfounded at Theo for a moment more before turning his eyes on Hermione. 

“You’re telling me that blithering idiot is a healer.”

Hermione nodded. “A field healer. He duels and heals, depending on where he’s needed.” She paused, mouth open. “As will Blaise.”

Draco threw his hands up and then gestured wildly at the limp figure that hadn’t moved since he’d been placed on the thin cot nearly four days ago. “Maybe we’re worrying over all this for nothing because I’m pretty sure you killed him in your duel.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “Apologies, but when someone is hurling Unforgivables at you with the speed and accuracy of a trained fighter, you tend to aim for the jugular.”

"And whoever healed him must be daft. Clearly they did something wrong.”

“ _ Nothing  _ was done wrong! He was healed with plenty of time and  _ accuracy  _ by a skilled witch.”

“Your bind diagnostic states otherwise,” he muttered. 

Hermione’s eyes widened and she charged forward, shoving her finger into his chest. “ _ You’re  _ the one who came up with the idea to bind Zabini.  _ I  _ convinced the Council.  _ I  _ created a watch schedule to ensure there’s someone always here and  _ I  _ came here to cast the diagnostic, check his vitals and even had the decency to update you on what’s happening.” She crossed her arms over her chest once more, with even more attitude this time. “You get to tell Seamus.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. He let out a laugh but Hermione’s face remained. 

“I think I find myself speaking with way more Gryffindors than I ever bargained for, thanks. Not interested in adding another to the list.”

Hermione clenched her fists. He was so  _ infuriating.  _ She could punch him, right here and right now. Ginny would pretend to be looking the other way and judging by the hurt expression still marring Theo's Face, he’d probably just cheer her on. 

She drew her wand and pointed it at Zabini’s temple. “Shall I just kill him now, then? Which spell would you prefer, contusion or mucus?”

Malfoy’s shoulders heaved as he breathed heavily through gritted teeth. His eyes were wild; swimming with anger and for the first time in ages she could see it. Draco Malfoy, Death Eater. The man who had captured, tortured and killed  _ dozens  _ of Order members. She reminded herself she should be scared, terrified even. She could feel his hatred flowing through his veins and into her mind, clouding all reasonable thought. 

Maybe she was infected. Maybe she could follow through with her threats towards Blaise and then turn it on him, say it was his fault. 

Maybe she wasn’t scared of him because he wasn’t the monster here. 

She lowered her wand and took a step back, turning towards the door and stumbling away from Malfoy. 

“Tell Seamus by sundown or I apparate Zabini’s unconscious body back to the place we dueled.”

She slammed the door behind her.

\---

Hermione was sitting on the floor stretching when Malfoy sauntered in hours later. 

The moment she had landed back in Grimmauld place she had apparated once more, landing at the cabin that now held too much space in her memory. 

This was supposed to be Malfoy’s cabin. A place where they would come and meet, exchange information and then not associate with each other again. A blip on the radar of her brain. 

Nothing was ever that easy. 

Theo was never supposed to be housed here for werewolf transformations. She looked towards the stairs that led to the porch and all she could see was Ginny handcuffed and pretending to hold it together. 

She ran. 

Miles, probably a dozen or so. She was great with directions after spending months in the woods and dueling had left her in great shape. It wasn’t the first time she used running as a coping mechanism. It was healthier than the drinking Ron reverted to, or the potions that she sometimes caught Lavender stealing from their stores. 

So when Malfoy found her sitting on her hard floor, sweaty, sore and exhausted, all she could manage was a furrow of her brow before she stretched out her left leg and reached out her fingers towards it. 

Malfoy, though he had invited himself in, chose to lean against her wall closest to the door. He eyed her, taking in her bedraggled appearance with a smirk before speaking. 

“I went to Finnegan.”

“I’m shocked,” she deadpanned. 

“Surely you’re at least a bit surprised.”

Hermione sat up straight and rolled her shoulders back. “Not in the least.”

Draco looked away, bringing his hand to his chin in contemplation. “Well, I at least thought about not doing it.”

“Liar.”

Malfoy scowled. “You’re being swotty again.”

She tapped her chest and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I just know you, that’s all.”

He paused. “What an unsettling thought.”

The room settled into an uncomfortable silence. One she was desperate to break. 

“You care for Zabini.”

Malfoy stiffened, eyes shooting to glare at her. 

“What are you on, Granger?”

“I just mean that you’ve gone through all this effort to ensure his safety, not only now but after the war as well.” It was obvious, but she  _ knew  _ not to say it out loud. Malfoy was less in touch with his feelings than Voldemort himself. 

“Pardon me for not wanting to watch another schoolmate enlist into their own homicide.”

“Apologies, but from my side of the war it seems as if you  _ enjoy  _ killing Hogwarts alumni.”

“If they’re in my way then they’re dead,” he spat. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Hermione stood up, placing her hands on her hips to contain their shaking. “So which is it then? Are you a heartless Death Eater cutting down resistance fighters or are you a teenaged boy that was pressured into the wrong side of the war before you even knew what you would have chosen?”

“Why can’t I be both? Or neither? Why do you have to squeeze me into one of your boxes of good,” he waved his hands at one side of the room, “or evil,” he flung his arms towards the other side.

“Well those are the two options, aren’t they? You’re with the Light or you’re with Tom.”

Or maybe,” he began, voice level rising from the seething whispers they’d started at to near yelling levels, “even those who had no say or care in this war were forced to play a part.”

Hermione scoffed, hands flying to her temples to stave off the oncoming headache. “Teenaged boy that was pressured into the wrong side of the war it is.”

Malfoy stepped forward to close the tiny space that was left between them. They could never sit still when they were fighting. They were circling each other in a spiral, starting on opposite sides of the room until they inevitably met in the middle. 

“I didn’t ask for this, Granger.”

“Your mum just spring it on you one morning then?” Her voice was cruel, even to her own ears and her impossibly high standards, but the thrum of his anger seemed to fuel her. “‘Good morning love, tea this afternoon, piano lessons at two, and, oh, by the way, the Dark Lord will be here this evening to brand his slave mark into you’.”

“Well he certainly didn’t write me into his schedule book,” Draco yelled. Hermione felt her anger, unchecked for the first time in ages, rise to unrivaled levels. At least, so she thought. A mini explosion went off in her chest. Suddenly Draco was standing there, hands on his hips, his feral eyes beating into her. She spoke before he had a chance.

“You had time! You could have come to the Order, you could have disappeared. You made the active choice to stay.” She was shaking with repressed rage, bubbling ever closer to the surface. 

“You expect a sixteen year old to run away from his parents and everything he’s known, everything that his family has stood for?”

Hermione's eyes lit up with a spark and despair flooded her chest, traveling to his through their tether. She wanted him to know. Wanted him to feel even a fraction of the pain she’d been containing for nearly eight years. “I gave up  _ everything  _ important to me outside of this world when I was fifteen, excuse me if I hold everyone else to the same standards when it’s a matter of life and death.”

“And my parents would both be dead if I hadn’t stayed. Am I supposed to feel bad about wanting to save them because they picked the wrong side?” 

Hermione swallowed and wavered.  _ Wrong side _ , he had said. It was the first time he had even insinuated he was with the Light. She couldn’t think about the implications of that, not right now. 

“Well good news Granger,” he began, voice raspy from screaming, “I do feel bad. Everyday.” He turned away, looking out to the sunset through her window, hands gripping the edge of her dresser so tightly his knuckles whitened. “I know I was— am— a coward. I know I should have gone to the Order sooner. And I know that I’m bound to the Golden Girl, Brightest Witch of Our Year, Hermione  _ fucking  _ Granger and I’ve done  _ nothing  _ to deserve it.” He punctuated his statement with the tapping of his boots—so loud in the now silent room— as he stormed away, slamming the door on his way out. 

\---

Draco was sitting in the living room staring out of the open window and contemplating stealing one of Theo’s muggle cigarettes that he swore by. His shoulders tensed when he felt her presence heading down the stairs. 

He wasn’t ready to face her. His shattered shields still lay in the recesses of his mind. He was too vulnerable. Briefly he considered jumping out of the window before the word  _ coward  _ flashed behind his eyes. He grit his teeth, but sat back. 

“I understand it’s a hard concept for the Gryffindor to grasp, but unless I’m reaching out to you, I'd prefer that you stay out of my mind.”

Granger stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her ankles crossed. A smirk spread across her features. 

“If you think you haven’t been broadcasting your every thought for the past four hours, then maybe you should go back to Occlumency for beginners.” She pointed over her shoulder. “I might have a copy in my room.”

“Well maybe my shields would still be up if some swotty know it all with big hair would leave me alone.” It was a weak insult. He loved her hair. She probably knew it too. It seemed like she knew everything. 

She opted for silence, crossed the room and sat beside him. Her face was a mask, but her hands fiddled nervously in her lap. He turned to her with a raised eyebrow. 

She sighed, dropping her gaze to her lap. 

“I’m not really sure how to go about this.” She took a deep breath. “For so long it was how I coped.” She began rolling up her pant leg and Draco drifted his eyes down to her now exposed calf. 

“Only Dean knows about  _ all  _ of these. Probably because he brandishes several of the same words, so I trusted him and told him every time. He’s seen most of them too, except for the ones closer to more intimate areas,” her voice was so low. He fought the urge to lean in closer. “He doesn't have quite as many as me, though.”

Draco grabbed the underside of the window seat he was in. It was rough and he could feel wooden splinters digging into his fingertips, but he didn’t relinquish any pressure. The pain grounded him in a way he needed when his Occlumency was failing him. 

“I’ve always been a toy to the Death Eaters. Always,” she whispered, still rolling up the material until it bunched at her midthigh. “They capture me, underestimate my intelligence and I escape. You’d think they’d learn by now, but I’m grateful they haven't.

“It started here.” She pointed to her wrist, where he knew Bella’s handiwork to be. He didn’t look down. 

_ Coward.  _

It was her voice still, but she wasn’t the one sending the words. 

“It was the worst moment of my life, at the time. We had been lucky to avoid snatchers and rapers before then. I look back at the incident now and laugh, because if I’d only known what was coming…” she drifted off, finger slowly moving over the word he refused to read. 

“You were there.” 

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. Her voice was calm and he found he couldn’t respond. 

"You were there, during the worst moment in my life thus far, and you did nothing to help me.”

His legs tensed with the urge to stand up and leave. He could go away, so far away that not even Granger could find him. He could cast wards and spells and drink potions that could keep him hidden forever. 

_ Coward.  _

He sat back forcefully. Not this time. 

He tore his eyes down to her wrist. An angry, puckered  _ mudblood  _ stared back at him, as if it was freshly healed and not years old. He swallowed against his dry throat, but didn’t look away. 

“I was so angry and so embarrassed to have been that helpless. It was awful. My first cruciatus, actually.” She drew her wrist away and his eyes were burning. “But not my last.”

His breath hitched but he righted it immediately. Steady breathing meant a steady heart rate. Maintain control. Don’t let emotions take over. 

He hadn’t known. He looked at all the scars on her exposed leg and began counting, but stopped after he reached fourteen, averting his eyes to the ceiling. 

All those times she’d been in the manor and he hadn’t known. 

_ “If you’re trying to hurt my feelings, you’ll have to be crueler than that. You see my nerves are shot from all the cruciatus curses I’ve had to endure. Maybe you could try your hand at an Unforgivable every now and again and let me know how you fare.” _

Not for the first time since he’d switched loyalties, he felt ignorant. 

“Most of the time they gave me several in one go. They would surround me with their enchanted knives and pass me around like I was a fucking joint. And I let it happen because I knew if I fought there then I wouldn’t make it out alive. I exercised patience in a way a Gryffindor shouldn’t need to.”

Her arms were wrapped around her chest and for the first time since she’d told him about her parents, she looked vulnerable. 

“I couldn’t blame Bellatrix because of how much she frightened me. I couldn’t be angry with her because that meant I’d have to think about  _ her  _ every time I looked at my scar. My mind couldn’t cope with that idea.” She began rolling down her pant leg and Draco suppressed a sigh of relief. 

“I didn’t know the other snatchers that well, and even though they were the ones that caught me they were so stupid they couldn’t identify Harry Potter. So I reasoned I couldn’t possibly be mad at wizards so nonsensical.”

She met his eyes once more and he vowed to hold her gaze. “So that left you. You were there, but you hadn’t touched me so I didn’t fear you. But I knew you. Well enough to realize that if the roles were reversed, I would have never let that happen to you.”

He opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, maybe to refute her statement, but most likely to beg for forgiveness. She cut him off with the raise of her hand before anything could tumble out. 

“It’s no matter, really. You would have been dead if you moved an inch and the same stands for me if we had switched places. That’s the difference between Slytherin and Gryffindor, I suppose.” She shook her head and twirled a curl around her finger. His eyes fell to watch the motion, entranced. He really did love her hair. 

“Gryffindors don’t think when it comes to situations of adrenaline. Ron and Harry were downstairs screaming for me the whole time. I’m sure you heard that. We just act and if we were in your place, we wouldn’t have been able to see the bigger picture and we would all be dead.

“You made a smart decision that night. I know that. But I couldn’t let my mind accept that. I needed it to be your fault. I needed someone to blame and you were the safest bet. We were on opposite sides, I would never see you unless it was on the battlefield and you were there, doing nothing.”

She leaned back against the window, eyes closed and lips pressed together in a tight line. Occluding. He could practically see it. 

“But you showed up, and then I binded you. We’re attached and it feels so right that sometimes I forget. I forget that I hate you and that it’s your fault.”

Her eyes were still closed. Her brow furrowed so harshly a crease appeared on her forehead. 

“Slowly, over the past few months I’ve started to realize the problem isn’t that I’ve forgotten, but merely that it was never you I should have blamed in the first place. You were just the easiest person to put my trauma on.”

His head was spinning. His instincts told him to reach out and silence her, let her know they would get through this together. She could blame him. He blamed himself anyways, what was the burden of one more disappointment?

“But now accepting that means accepting that you weren’t responsible for any of these.” She gestured to her legs. “And now I have to put a face to the actual people who did this to me.”

She shook her head and a single tear leaked out of her eye. “So I’m sorry. Because out of all the truly horrible things you’ve done, I’ve never hated you for them. But this, this thing you had no control over, I  _ despised  _ you for it for years.”

He grabbed her wrist and flipped it over, looking at the scar once more. He placed his other hand over it firmly. 

Her body shook with sobs. 

“I can’t forgive you for it yet. And I’m sorry for that too.” Her voice was wet with tears. 

He shook his head. “Occlumency will do that to you.” It was excellent for compartmentalization but a person could only hide their emotions for so long. 

“I have to go through all those memories and remove you from them. I had placed you there in lieu of the actual people.”

“That’s ingenious.” It really was. 

She had her hands balled into fists and pressed lightly against her lips. Her words were muffled when she spoke again. “But going back and reliving them is hard. It might take a while.”

“Don’t do it.” His voice edged on begging but he didn’t care. 

She shook her head. “I have to. I’m ready to move on from what you didn’t do and focus on what you’re trying to do now.”

It was silent for a moment. They sat like that for a while before he decided on the appropriate words. 

“You’ll let me be there while you do it?”

She hesitated. “It could take months for me to complete them all.”

He tightened his grip. 

“Granger, I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got plans for Finnegan and Zabini. Not big but... I'm really excited to write their dynamic.  
> This is probbaly my favorite chapter I've written. The second half of this chapter (starting "I didn't ask for this, Ganger,") was written very early on, because I wanted them to have this blow out about why hermione can't seem to drop the fact that he was there while Bellatrix crucio'd her. (I know it's a big deal, but she's forgiven things a lot more serious than this a million times over).


	18. The Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for vulgar language

Zabini gained consciousness exactly one week after the initial raid. Hermione was on watch when it happened. 

He awoke with a gasp. He took in his surroundings with the gracefulness of a cat that just had a bucket of ice water poured on it. When his eyes landed on her form, sitting cross legged in the corner with parchment in one hand and a quill in the other, he legitimately hissed. 

“Ah, Zabini,” she greeted with a nod of her head. 

“What the fuck, mudblood.” His voice was gravelly and, in other circumstances, Hermione would have handed him the pitcher of water that was on the bedside table, right out of his reach. 

“Now now, Zabini. That’s no way to speak to your comrades.” Hermione, truly, knew better than to antagonize someone that had just woken up in an unfamiliar setting. 

She just didn’t care. 

Blaise’s eyes flashed. Hermione could practically feel the anger coming off him in harsh waves that rivaled the ones she had built a sea wall against in her mind. Clearly he had never specialized in Occlumency. 

“The first thing the Order will do after your ceremony is teach you how to control your emotions. Can’t have you running about angry and tossing harsh words like Malfoy in second year.”

Zabini was up, charging towards Hermione as if his bed had just caught fire. It hadn’t, but if that had been the case it would have been because Hermione  _ chose  _ to, not because she couldn’t reign in her emotions like the man in front of her. She used legilimency to probe out to him. 

No walls. Not even a speed bump. She could take his mind and tear it into pieces before he even knew what was happening. It wouldn’t even take three minutes. 

Hermione watched as he stumbled and fell to the floor as she pressed against his most recent memories. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t even uncrossed her legs. If this was intimidation, she was starting to wonder how he’d made it this far into the war. 

“Draco will destroy you once he finds out where I am.”

Ah, that’s right. 

“Malfoy’s going to come save you, then? Big, bad Zabini is so quick with his silver tongue but can’t fight his own battles?”

His index finger came up and prodded the air in front of him. He let out a small yelp when the wards that protected her from him zapped out with blue magic. 

“Can’t put up much of a fight when you’ve taken the cowards way out.”

Hermione scoffed before picking back up the documents she was working on. Ron had asked for these by sundown and Hermione  _ always  _ turned in her assignments on time. 

“Your insults have no nuance. You’ll have to try harder than that to get to me.”

Zabini opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione held up her hand to stop him. 

“You should just save it,” she snapped, charming the quill to write on its own. “Malfoy will be here momentarily.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Draco? Coming here?”

Hermione watched the quill as it slid across the parchment, finding peace in the scratching sound. “Isn’t that what you said would happen?”

“I said Draco would destroy you. Not that he’d come to this shack and do it.”

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “Semantics. What does destroy even mean?”

It took Zabini five minutes to describe all the different ways Draco would tear her limbs apart, six minutes for Malfoy to appear in the doorway, and ten minutes for Blaise to figure out Hermione had been stalling. 

“Wait,” he began, holding a hand out at Draco as he attempted to delve into the explanations of what all  _ this  _ meant. “Granger never cared about you killing her. She was just trying to get me to keep talking!”

Hermione raised an invisible glass in mock cheers. “Ten points to Slytherin.”

“Blaise,” Draco cut in before he could retort. His voice was sharp, barring no arguments and Zabini’s head immediately snapped to attention. 

Malfoy was a leader. A Death Eater of high rank. He demanded respect from those around him. 

She’d just never seen anyone actually give it to him. 

“Why is the mudblood still alive?” Blaise was still standing on the other side of the wards, hands shoved in his pockets. He was eyeing Draco questioningly, a look of suspicion on his face. His mind may be poorly hidden, but he was every bit the observant, cunning man she had remembered from school. 

Hermione and Malfoy exchanged glances. His shoulders had tensed at the use of the slur and Zabini had noticed. His expression was guarded now, distrust etched into his features. 

“Blaise, sit down.”

As Draco recounted all the details of the last few months, Hermione studied Blaise. As time went on, his fists clenched tighter and his feet began tapping louder and louder before it became a constant echo in the room. 

He was mad, furious more accurately and he was doing nothing to hide it. His emotional maturity level tapped out at about twelve. 

Malfoy, to Hermione’s surprise, was the perfect picture of poised emotionless. He explained everything with clinical precision, not leaning in one direction or the other except when explaining that they  _ had  _ to side with the Order. 

“It’s either that, or we die.”

Blaise scoffed, eyes averting Draco’s to meet with Hermione’s. “And you chose the Order?”

Draco’s eyebrows raised and— was that a smile? What about this was he finding  _ funny? _

“Blaise,” he began, a hint of laughter slipping through his lips. “Self preservation?” He gestured to himself in an up and down motion. 

“I guess I’m just having trouble believing it. People said it for years, and I defended you. But you’re nothing more than a coward.” His voice was filled with hatred, but Malfoy still didn’t flinch. His expression was empty. Hermione reached out through their tether and found only static. He was fully Occluded. 

“You’re as much a part of the Order as myself and Granger now.”

“I never thought I’d see the day. A Malfoy, a blood traitor. What would your father say?”

“I’m sure when he realizes I’ve saved his sorry life from being the Dark Lord’s minion until he dies, he’ll thank me and praise me as the son he’s always wanted.”

Blaise attempted to pick up the lamp (Hermione’s muggle influence) from the side table and huffed in frustration when it didn’t budge. (A sticking charm, also Hermione’s influence.) 

“You can kill me. I’ll not be a part of anything that the mudblood makes are in on.” He was eying the lamp suspiciously, running his hands over the blue base and staring at the lightbulb until he was forced to look away, blinking quickly. 

“It’s electricity,” she spoke for the first time since Malfoy entered. 

Blaise shot her an annoyed glance. “I’ve no use for muggle appliances. I want it out of here.”

Hermione sighed and turned to Malfoy. He was dressed in his normal black Wizarding robes, as if he had just come from a meeting with the Death Eaters. He probably had, Hermione realized. She wondered what type of excuse he had fabricated to make it here so quickly. 

“He’s not responding well,” she stated. 

“Don’t you think I can see that?” His voice was void of any venom, but she could feel his frustration ebbing into their bond. 

“Her mudblood cunt must have gold trimmings.”

Silence. Draco didn’t even turn to look at him. His eyes stayed trained on Hermione. She watched as his Occlumency fumbled; could practically  _ hear  _ as Zabini’s words took down each brick in Draco’s mind, one by one. 

“Maybe if I stay you’ll let me have a go. Might be worth it after all.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. She watched the muscles work, tensing so tightly she feared his teeth might crack. 

“Go. Get. Them.”

“Draco—“ his shoulders tensed at the use of his first name, but she carried on. “You’re not thinking clearly. Go take a breath and we’ll continue on.”  _ Go meditate. You need Occlumency for this.  _

“Granger. Go get them.” And for some reason that Hermione couldn’t exactly explain, she got up and walked out of the room. She knew, could tell by the tone of his voice that this wasn’t a decision made by emotion. He was angry, furious if the quivering of his shoulders was anything to go by, but that played a minimal part in the decision he’d just made. 

Hermione apparated back to Grimmauld, pulled Pansy out of Neville’s embrace and tried not to flinch when she walked in on Theo and Luna in an intense conversation. 

When she was back at the safe house in Scotland with a stoic set of Slytherins in tow, Hermione hesitated on the porch steps. 

This would be an intensely private and intimate moment. Blaise had turned to hatred and hurt because of the supposed deaths of these two. 

Hermione thought back to her Hogwarts days. Blaise was always there, standing behind Malfoy and every now and then laughing at one of his horribly crafted insults, but he was never cruel to her. He was more of an enigma back then, and though Hermione had never exactly figured him out she felt sure that he had never been like  _ this.  _

So while part of her wanted to afford him the privacy to fall apart without prying eyes, another part, the more stubborn and just one, pictured his lips turning into a sneer around the words  _ mudblood cunt, _ and she decided that he’d surrendered the option of privacy and respect once he’d opened his mouth. 

She entered the small room first, watching Zabini roll his eyes and continue to pace the room. He was just about to open his mouth— probably to toss another poorly thought out insult— when Pansy bumped through the door. 

She walked slowly, as if approaching a scared and defensive animal. Honestly, the similarities didn’t stop there, so maybe she was onto something. 

Blaise watched with an intensity so strong Hermione almost dropped her eyes.  _ Almost.  _

His expression changed from anger into confusion— his brows furrowed and his mouth popped open softly— and then back into anger. He turned towards Draco. 

“What game are you playing at?”

Theo entered then, with much less nuance. His hands were in his pockets and he looked every bit the Slytherin Prince Hermione had him pegged for before she truly got to know him. 

“Get your knickers out of your ass and have a seat, Zabini.”

Blaise, to Hermione’s surprise, listened. 

_ Great subordinate,  _ she noted. 

He was wiping his hands absentmindedly on his torn pants. They were covered in blood; they hadn’t bothered to change him since the night Hermione brought him here. Maybe they should, now that he was conscious. 

He looked positively shell shocked now, eyes blown and mouth shut. His gaze flickered from Pansy to Theo, back to Pansy before settling on Draco. 

“You knew?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. Hermione cringed at the sheer sadness in his words. She almost envied his willingness to shamelessly let his emotions show. 

Draco crossed the wards for the first time and took a seat next to him on the cot. He patted him on the back softly. 

“Just for a few months now. Only since I joined the Order.”

So the three of them sat there, talking about what had happened and how and why Blaise wasn’t included. 

“Blaise,” Pansy began in her best attempt at a soothing voice, “you wouldn’t have come. Think about yourself three years ago and tell me you would have wanted to be here.”

Blaise had averted his eyes to the floor, the fight apparently gone out. 

“I’m not fighting for the Order.” His words were strong, even as he sat slumped over and refused to look at anyone. 

“So you’re going to sit here and tell me you still believe in all that blood superiority bull shit?” Pansy threw her hands up angrily. 

Blaise turned towards Draco and raised a brow. 

“Answer the question,” he bit out. 

“What’s it matter, truly? It’s not as if I’m about to start fighting for the other side now.”

“And why not?” Pansy challenged. 

Blaise glared at her. “Pans, in sixth year you tried to hex Granger with a joint locking spell.”

“Yes and she blocked it because she’s a talented witch.” Pansy crossed her arms. “Maybe that was when things started to change for me.”

“Well, nothing’s changed for me.” 

Pansy sighed, dropping her hands to her sides before standing up. 

“You should send him back,” she told Draco. 

“We’re not sending him back after all this. We’re binding him to Finnegan.”

“What if he won’t stay?” Theo asked. He’d been quiet nearly this whole time. Hermione eyed him wearily. He’d always seemed exhausted since that first full moon night. He’d been taking wolfsbane since the waning of the moon, but during the second full moon he’d insisted his wolf wasn’t responding well to it. The next one would be coming up shortly and they hadn’t convinced him to continue taking the potions. 

“You stayed. Pansy stayed. Blaise will too.”

“We all wanted to be here. We can’t say what will happen if we bind an unwilling person.”

“It’s already been decided,” Hermione said. “The binding will happen tonight.”

Theo’s jaw tightened. He stood and walked swiftly and silently out the door. Pansy hopped to her feet and turned to Draco. 

“The best thing about the Order is that everyone here is passionate about what they’re fighting for.” She pointed a finger towards Blaise. “If you let him in then we’re doing it just because you can’t accept what path he’s chosen.”

“The only reason he ever became like this was because  _ you  _ faked your death instead of just abandoning.  _ Your  _ inability to pick a side and stick with it is what caused this.”

Pansy scoffed and cocked one hip to the side. It was hard to note similarities to the old Pansy and the one standing here. She was dressed in worn denim jeans, strapped sandals and a practical pink jumper. She was still stylish but it held none of the arrogance and overdone obnoxiousness that it had back at Hogwarts. Hermione hadn’t seen her in heels since her second day at Grimmauld as she limped off the practice field. Her bright red lipstick had been replaced with soft pinks. 

But standing there in a face off with Draco, she was even more fearsome than she had been back then. 

“So now you’re better than me because you’re playing double agent? It’s not my fault I made up my mind before you, but what you’re doing doesn’t make you any better than me.”

“Don’t act so noble Pansy!” Draco was shouting now. “You came here for yourself and  _ not  _ the muggles.”

“If I wanted to disappear off the map I could have easily done that. Why didn’t I do that if I didn’t want to fight?”

“I don’t know Pans, why’d you do it?”

“Because I can!” She was screaming, red faced and spit flying. Her shoulders heaved as she tried to reign in her anger. “I can be here. I can fight. I fucked up and I needed to fix it so I did. It’s the same reason you’re here.”

Draco sneered but after a moment averted his eyes. Pansy took a step toward him and tried to catch his eyes. 

“A world where the Order loses is a world lost. It doesn’t matter about blood purity. Tom will go after women next and then the poor. He will seek out anarchy until there’s no one left.”

Draco was silent for a moment before he loosened his shoulders. “I just can’t believe you figured it out before me.”

Pansy huffed out a laugh, dropping her head and shaking it. “It should have been sooner, but I was in denial.”

Hermione watched the whole exchange silently. For the first time she truly thought she understood the bond between Draco and Pansy. The snogging in fifth year and the moans behind tapestries in sixth year had suddenly never felt so insincere. This, right here, was exactly what they meant to each other. 

Blaise watched on in raptured silence. Hermione was sure he had actually gone into shock and was currently incapable of speaking, but she was having a hard time feeling too sorry for him. 

She felt Draco’s conflict through their bind and after a loving embrace with Pansy he turned towards Hermione. 

“Do you really think this could work?” he whispered, glancing at Blaise. 

Hermione took him in. She remembered how old he had looked when they had first rendezvoused at his cabin. She had attributed it to the war but now she was beginning to suspect it was just an act he had staged to try and intimidate her because here, in this tiny room that reeked of antiseptic charms, surrounded by his closest friends— two of which he had thought to be dead and the other he thought was too evil to make a comeback— he had never looked more youthful. 

His eyes struck her with how silver and bright they were for the first time. They weren’t just eyes for her to look into to check for deceit— they were  _ Draco’s  _ eyes. Deep and sincere and looking at her like his world might fall apart if she weren’t standing by his side. And she knew that feeling because she had felt it that night during the raid. The empty space where Draco was supposed to be ached. Even the thought of it caused her heart rate to increase. She had risked her life by waiting and searching for him but she couldn’t imagine any words or sense that would have convinced her to leave. 

Having him here, asking for advice and looking at her with so much vulnerability made her feel important. And not in the you’re-a-vital-part-of-the-Order important, but in a way that, for the first time in ages, she wondered if she didn’t— couldn’t— have a happy ending at the conclusion of this war.

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. And then she mustered up all her Gryffindor courage and did the bravest thing she’d had to do all war. 

She let down her walls and took his hand. 

“But we’ll find out together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m working on chapter 25 right now, but I’m rereading it all and it REALLY picks up the pace after this... like too much. I need to write a filler chapter (or two) after chapter 19 so... any fluffy/fun/not all that relevant to plot things you’d all like to see? Let me know here in the comments or on tumblr!


	19. Blaisus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter in, chapter out!  
> Enjoy a very insecure Hermione and a very sexy Draco

Hermione truly thought it was amazing the way she seemed to attract people during a war setting. For someone who was not particularly well liked during her school days, she couldn’t help but write it up as an anomaly more often than not. But the facts spoke for themselves: she was never given alone time. 

Sitting in her room she was most often interrupted by Draco or Fred, and if she was holed up in more common areas it seemed almost anyone would approach her to make idle chat. She was quite the hot commodity but she chalked most of that up to her role as an Order member. 

Today, as she was lounging in the first floor living room, feet thrown over the arm of the sofa and reading through the most recent interrogation reports, she was approached by Seamus. 

She should have seen this coming, honestly. She’d done her best to avoid him after Draco had broken the news to him, and now that Blaise was awake and they had confirmed that the binding ceremony would be happening  _ tonight,  _ she shouldn’t have been at all surprised. 

But she was. And unprepared. She had nothing positive or enlightening to say to him that might lighten the load on his shoulders. He looked stressed beyond words; panic highlighting his eyes and tense muscles outlining his body. 

He had grown into himself quite well, around the time he ceased blowing things up with every unfamiliar spell. He grew into his scrawny build, as most of them had due to the sheer amount of activity they participated in. He’d let his hair grow out a bit, and during the hot, humid summers it curled slightly with his sweat. He had a sweet smile and good intentions. In another life, she could see herself being interested. 

Not this one, though. 

“Good afternoon, Seamus.”

“Hermione.” He flopped down beside her, mimicking her pose so that their heads met in the middle cushion and he had to crane his neck to look into her eyes. “This is for you.” He handed her a piece of parchment. 

Hermione opened it up and skimmed through the crooked handwriting. 

“Seamus, this is a resignation letter.”

“Yes, I gave it my best go, but I think accounting is more my style.”

Hermione smacked his head with the letter. “I don’t think Gringotts is hiring half breeds at the moment, why don’t you try again in a few years.”

“What’s that about half breeds?” Theo entered the room and plopped down at the foot of the couch. “You know that term offends me so.”

“Finnegan is scared of Zabini.”

Seamus gasped and sat up. “I am not! It’s just time for me to move onto bigger and better things. The war effort is too small scale for me.”

“Yes, you’ll really find your niche counting coins behind a desk,” Hermione replied drily. “Get a move on, Seamus. Draco is apparating Zabini over in an hour and it sounds like you’ve yet to start mentally preparing.”

“This is so not fair,” Seamus whined, face twisting into the most pathetic attempt of sorrow. “I’ve got the worst partner in all the Order.”

Hermione sat up and placed a challenging glare on Seamus. “I’m bound to an  _ actual  _ Death Eater. Zabini was just a wannabe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Seamus crossed his arms over his chest. 

“It means I have the worst partner.”

“As if!” 

“Let’s see, shall we?” Hermione began, holding her fingers out as she checked off her mental list, “he’s prejudiced, biased, naive and stupid.”

“Zabini is all that as well,” Seamus argued. “I could even say he’s worse, considering he’s not even all that skilled as what he does.”

“So Malfoy being a more successful part of the Dark side makes him a better partner? No, it simply makes him more evil.”

“Malfoy came to the Order willingly. Zabini still believes all that nonsense that Tom speaks.”

“Malfoy came to us strictly to save his own arse. That makes him smarter than Blaise, sure, but I could argue that makes him more dangerous and therefore the worse partner.”

“Is this something you really need to be arguing about?” Theo inquired. 

Hermione pursed her lips and tipped her head to the ceiling as if in thought. “Yes.”

“Well Finnegan,” Theo began, giving Hermione a conspiratorial look, “the only way to truly prove you’ve got it worse is to go through with the binding.”

Seamus, whose face had gone from pinked cheeks to completely red faced, shot Theo a glare so menacing that Voldemort himself would be impressed, before throwing his hands up. 

“Fine. I’ll bind to the bloody evil git.”

Hermione patted him on the back. “That’s the spirit. You’ll be best friends in no time.”

“S’not fair,” he insisted. “Malfoy actually isn’t all that bad.”

“I’m confused. In all the scenarios I’d imagined where Malfoy joined the Order— which in case you were wondering, were zero, because Malfoy was evil and self righteous and prejudiced—“ she shook her head. “He was isolated and miserable and constantly being mocked.”

Seamus shrugged, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “A few years ago, sure. Now it’s too exhausting. We’ve got enough people to hate. I’m tired of it. I’m not sure how much hatred I have left in me.”

With that, Seamus was up and walking out the door. 

Hermione sat thinking about his words long after she should have headed to the ceremony. 

\---

When she had managed to shake herself from her reverie she rushed into the binding room into a scene of chaos. 

The room was almost as full as it had been during Malfoy and her’s ceremony. Apparently even during war people still had time to stick their noses where they didn’t belong. 

Theo and Malfoy were both screaming at something below them. Hermione ran over to see Blaise pinned below Draco’s knees while Theo gripped his shoulders with a white knuckle intensity. 

“What in Godric’s name is going on?”

Malfoy looked up at her. She couldn’t read his eyes. His brow was loose with emotionless indifference. He was fully occluded, as if headed into battle. 

“We can’t start a binding ritual like this.”

“The circle’s just over there to the left.” Malfoy chucked his chin in the direction and she eyed a green circle, so thin it was barely visible at the angle she was standing. 

She turned her head back to the boys. “What’s your plan?”

“Can we stun him?”

“Theo!”

“It was just a suggestion.”

Even under Theo’s inhuman strength Blaise was bucking like a wild animal. The scene reminded Hermione of third year, Malfoy writhing underneath Buckbeak’s claws. 

“Looks like you finally conquered your fear of mythical creatures.” 

“Stuff it, Granger.”

Hermione bit back a smile. 

“Tell me you have an actual plan.”

Malfoy grunted as Blaise thrashed particularly hard. He wasn’t making any noises. On closer inspection Hermione saw his mouth open and the veins at his neck threatening to burst. 

“Silencing charm?”

“You can thank us later,” Theo replied drily. “My head’s pounding from his high pitched threats.”

“This isn’t going to work.” Hadn’t they thought ahead this far?

“Granger, if that’s all you’ve got to say why don’t you take a seat next to the rest of our audience?”

As tempting as it was to just leave Malfoy and let him figure it out himself, she found herself hesitating. Not a single reason swam to the surface as to why she should help him. 

“A sticking charm. In the circle.” 

She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her anymore. 

“Will that interfere with the binding magic?”

“I don’t know. We’ve never had to restrain someone in an attempt to complete it.” 

“Well no time like the present.” Theo lifted Blaise’s shoulders off the ground. “After you, Drakie.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. Out of all the things to cut through his seemingly impenetrable walls, Hermione was unsurprised you find it would be a slight from Theo.

It was almost painful to watch the three boys struggle against each other. The trio had once been inseparable. The thought continued to flow into Hermione. An image of the three of them laughing and drinking Firewhiskey out of a flask in Hogsmeade floated into her mind. 

She hadn’t seen Blaise smile since she’d captured him. It looked so effortless in the memory. The sun peered through the winter skies and shone down on them. Draco nudged Blaise in the shoulder, mouthing words she couldn’t hear and then the three were bent over as peels of laughter fell from their lips. 

It was painful to watch. Another reminder that some things may never be pieced back together the same way they were before. 

Draco looked towards Hermione pleadingly and suddenly it was too obvious why he had put so much effort into occluding. 

She walked over to him and wordlessly performed the charm. 

“Hold his arms down too. I’ll stick them to his clothes.”

Once it was done she stepped back and assessed her work. 

He was still flailing hopelessly. At this point it was embarrassing. Hermione had never met a more stubborn human before. 

“What are the odds of this working out in our favor?”

Hermione turned to Draco, ready to remind him that she and him didn’t want the same outcome, but as soon as her eyes met his— crystal slicing into her, cutting so deep that her ocean walls were overwhelmed by storm surges of emotions— and she took his hand. 

“We’ll perform the ceremony. Together.”

When Seamus appeared at the front of the crowd, hands in his pockets and expression schooled into one of indifference, Hermione gestured to his half of the circle. He eyed Blaise suspiciously. 

“He looks thrilled to be here.”

“He’s here,” Hermione replied drily. “It’s good enough for now. Get into the circle.”

After the first hour of Draco and herself circling the pair, Hermione lost track of time. By the time the line in the middle had disappeared she felt nearly drained. Beside her Draco was breathing heavily. His wand hand was quivering. 

“It’s not supposed to be that draining,” she said

“It’s a unique circumstance.”

A wave of dizziness passed over Hermione. She closed her eyes and tried to calm the storm in her mind. Maybe she was just getting seasick. 

Below them, Blaise and Finnegan had started to come to. About thirty minutes in they had taken to sitting cross legged on the floor, backs to each other. Even though ceremonies hadn’t seemed to have anything to do with the efficacy of a bind, it still made Hermione nervous to see. It was the first time she’d seen a compatible pair  _ not  _ acknowledge each other in any way. 

They jerked their heads up at the same time, necks craning left to right until their eyes fell on Hermione and Draco. 

Neither said a word. They seemed unwilling to face each other. 

“Well?” Hermione prompted. 

Seamus’ hand flew to the back of his neck. “Bloke’s angry.”

Blaise jerked around to face Seamus head on. 

“Angry? We just merged our souls and all you have to say is that I’m  _ angry?” _

“Well you’re proving my point now, aren’t you?”

“I’m more than just my anger.” 

“Are you?”

Blaise crossed his arms over his chest. “I guess you’re not more than stupid, then.”

“I’ll show you—“

“All right!” Hermione clapped her hands together before reaching down for Finnegan’s shirt collar. “A bit of separation to calm the nerves is always a good idea.” She brought him to his feet and eyed her partner. “Draco?”

He was staring wordlessly at Blaise, who was sitting with his fists clenched, glaring daggers at Seamus. 

Hermione pulled Seamus from the room as Blaise began to speak. 

“Angry. Bloke’s got no emotional depth if he thinks that's all I feel.”

Seamus turned to Hermione. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s ruled by hatred.”

Hermione’s eyes stayed forward. “How do you feel?”

“Angry.”

\---

Hermione, Harry, Ron and Dean sat with Seamus in the second floor living room while the new pair gained their sensibilities back separate from each other. 

Hermione lounged on the floor facing the couch, sandwiched between Harry and Ron. It felt at home and peaceful in a way she was unable to describe without using the term nostalgic. 

The three of them were so rarely able to get together like this anymore. They all found themselves on different teams, still interacting and loving each other when possible, but mostly needing to stay apart to perform their duties. She saw Harry and Ron often enough, and they were still her best friends undoubtedly, but the opportunities for them to all three sit together were so rare that it automatically threw Hermione back to their Hogwarts days, conspiring by the Common Room fire about things that were just hypothetical back then.

“How are you feeling, mate?” asked Dean. 

Dean and Seamus both seemed to have fallen victim to the same curse as the trio. They used to be inseparable, and while Hermione was sure they were still the best of friends, it wasn’t uncommon to see one without the other now. 

Ron and Dean were bound, both on the D team. They spent most of their time locked up in the war room planning strategies and raids. If they weren’t there, they were up on the roof getting in their mandated training hours. Schedules never seemed to line up like they used to. 

Seamus has taken to sitting stiffly on the couch, staring into the fire blankly. At Dean’s question he merely shrugged. 

“I think he’s in shock,” Hermione said, gaze on Dean. 

Dean sent her a knowing look. The two of them had become well acquainted during the times of war. Because of their muggleborn status, they often found themselves cooped up together, whether it be because they were both abducted or because they needed to just sit in the company of someone else who  _ understood  _ what it was like. 

A lot of their traumas were shared. It both brought Hermione closer to Dean, and made her want to keep her distance at the same time. 

“Should I slap him?” Dean asked. 

“Perhaps Seamus could answer that question best himself.” Hermione said. 

Dean turned towards Seamus. 

Well, mate? Do you need to be slapped?”

Seamus remained silent. Hermione couldn’t recall the last time he’d blinked. 

The harsh sound of palm hitting cheek echoed throughout the room. Seamus jumped up, hands on his face and glared at his best friend. 

“I really hate that that is standard protocol,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw. “That’s going to bruise.”

“It’s been tested in a controlled setting,” Hermione declared. 

“You slapping Dean in the basement of Malfoy Manor to snap him out of shock is not controlled,” Harry said. 

“Fine,” Hermione huffed, eyes landing on a smirking Dean. “It’s been field tested.”

“Blimey,” muttered Ron. “Remind me to thank the gods I’ve never been captured with Hermione.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a great prison mate.”

“That’s true,” Dean said. “She always offers up her piece of moldy bread.”

“Only the best for you,” she beamed. 

It was silent for a moment before Ron turned his head towards Seamus. 

“Well? How’re you feeling?”

Seamus shrugged. “I feel— I feel like I’ve got a new purpose.”

“That’s— good,” Hermione sputtered. The others nodded in agreement. 

“It’s—“ Seamus paused, rubbing at his chest. “Zabini’s got a lot of issues. He’s mad and confused— but above all he’s  _ scared.”  _

The group stayed silent. Hermione felt like they were intruding on a private moment, as if Seamus wasn’t telling them necessarily, just needed to let the information out of his head.

“But he’s taken it all and he’s turned it into motivation. He’ll do anything for his cause.”

Hermione swallowed roughly. “And does his cause remain the same?”

Seamus met her gaze head on. “He’s angry. And scared. And confused. Right now, he lacks purpose. Or maybe that’s not it. It’s more like— his purpose has been transferred. It’s like—  _ I’m  _ his purpose.”

Hermione released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It had worked. The bind would ensure Blaise’s loyalty. 

She wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information. 

On the one hand she was relieved to know they wouldn’t have to take further action against him. This all could have been much messier if the bind didn’t work how they’d predicted. 

But at the same time, she wasn’t sure how she felt knowing that the bind had changed his mind so quickly. Did that mean deep down he was always unsure, or had the bind been the one to change his mind?

Was their bind, created to fight in favor of the resistance, biased? 

_ The bind can’t create anything that isn’t there. _

This had been their claim now, for years. She was so sure this was the truth. But sitting here staring at Seamus, she couldn’t stop the guilt that stirred in her stomach. 

It’s not that she felt bad about changing Blaise’s mind, more so that now she was questioning everything. 

The things that had always driven the Order was their fire, their will to win based solely on doing the right thing. Everyone here believed in the same things and that shared passion drove them into what she  _ knew  _ would one day be victory. 

She thought of Blaise’s hateful words and spiky tongue. His evil eyes and blatant refusal to cooperate with the Order, even with his best mates standing there and insisting to him they were doing the right thing. 

It left Hermione wondering: Did the bind bring out the best in people, or did it just bring out what the Order  _ wanted? _

Had they manipulated Blaise into taking and fighting on their side of the war?

Hermione swallowed. Had she and her feelings— all the thoughts she shot at Draco— manipulated him into believing the Order was best?

Was none of this sincere?

Draco burst into the room then. He gave no greetings; said nothing at all. He merely reached for Hermione, dragged her by her wrist out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

“Let me be clear about this,” he began, swinging her around until her back hit the wall opposite the door. “I  _ cannot  _ be swayed by your thoughts. I am an Occlumency master as you well know and your weak and feeble attempts to bully me into seeing things your way merely made me want to break our bind and turn back to the Dark Lord.”

Hermione swallowed. She couldn’t speak, and he must have known it because he took his time, eyes traveling her face and searching for— something— before he continued on. 

“You can manipulate my mind no more than I can with yours and convince you to come with the Death Eaters and fight for us. I can try, sure but it would be stupid and annoying. This bind didn’t  _ alter  _ me. I came to the Order because I wanted to, being bound to you was just a part of the deal. And if I’ve changed along the way— be it in my views on muggleborns or my views on the Order as a whole— it would simply be because I’ve realized that fighting for the Dark Lord in the first place was a death sentence, something that never should have happened.”

He raised his hand and placed it gently on the side of her neck. She leaned into his touch. 

“And if you think you’re responsible for any of that, Granger. Well— you might be right, but it would have nothing to do with our bind and everything to do with your passion, facts and well driven experiments. You’ve  _ proven  _ to me that this is the right side in a way that would remain true even without this bind. And it’s like I already told you, my views haven’t changed since before I came to the Order. But maybe they’ve been cemented.”

“My attempts to change your mind are anything but feeble,” she said breathlessly. 

Draco’s thumb stroked at her throat slowly and her pulse thrummed beneath his touch. Her legs quivered underneath her. 

“If Blaise has changed his mind it’s because the bind has allowed him to see clearly; to remember who it is he’s always been.”

“You can’t know that,” she insisted. 

“I trust you,” he said, eyes serious and searching hers. “It’s time you start to trust me as well.” 

Draco had never faltered in his faith in Blaise and Hermione had fought him, digging her feet into the ground and asking him to reevaluate the entire time. 

But Draco had been right. And Hermione was having such a hard time accepting it that she was trying to warp the science behind their bind to try and fit the new narrative. 

“These bonds,” she began, dropping her eyes to the ground. “The longer time goes on the more I’m realizing they could be dangerous. Unhealthy.”

“Granger, if the worst thing that comes out of this war is that some people are codependent on each other, I think we can call it a win.”

“You say that now,” she said. “But what happens when after the war we want to go our own ways, but the bind insists we stay together?” She searched his face, but his walls had gone up. “Then what? When we can’t discern where our feelings stop and the bind’s begin?”

Draco remained silent, but he pulled her into a hug. 

Hermione knew it was a distraction, as much for him as it was for her, but she couldn’t bear to break it. Their relationship was so fragile as it was. 

Besides, she could hear Draco’s answer echoing in her mind. Bouncing around until it consumed all her senses. 

_ I’ll never want to leave you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is my new Blaise x Seamus ship name (do they already have a ship name? What is it? Please tell me it’s better than what I created.)  
> I wrote 4.1k words on Ginny x Theo, Theo x Luna and Neville x Pansy and I honestly think it’s some of my best writing. That will be the next chapter that is published. I can’t wait to share it with you guys, it honestly just makes me want to write one shots about these dorks, but I must refrain and continue on with this story! I’m writing chapter 26 right now and truly I should be getting to the end soon. This story will probably be between 30-32 chapter and 100k-125k words. As long as I stop distracting myself with new plot points. But these emotionally stunted idiots have to get together eventually and I have some much needed smut to write so, onto the next chapter!


	20. Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy update Sunday!

“Would you fuck Draco?”

“Ginny!”

“I’ve been dying to ask that question for weeks.”

“For how long?”

“Since the porch incident.”

Hermione set down her coffee cup and stared at her blood stained fingers. They had just returned from their last planned attack on the Death Eaters before the snow wouldn’t melt. It was an overwhelming success, though even the greatest of victories didn’t come without their losses. Five older aurors had died. Blaise had his debut on the battlefield, standing with Seamus and healing those he could. The diagnostic didn’t lie; he was quite good. Though it seemed he put forth his best effort into saving Order members, two had died under his care. He had taken it hard, storming out of the room as soon as he was dismissed, smoke practically coming out of his ears. Seamus stood awkwardly off to the side for a moment before following him out. 

The sun was rising now, but Hermione’s adrenaline was still thrumming through her veins. Draco had disappeared upstairs to shower, but the shaking in Hermione’s hands made it near impossible to even hold her wand, nevermind cleaning herself.

So she’d found Ginny, who always knew what she needed without speaking. She’d brewed the strongest pot of coffee imaginable and was attempting to distract her.

“What do you mean the  _ porch incident? _ ”

Hermione was familiar enough with tone to understand these words in this combination had become a phrase. Something the others referred to, talked about frequently enough to give it a nickname. 

“You know.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “The night of Theo’s first transformation.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re referring to.”

“Please, the two of you were practically pining for each other on those steps. We all saw it.”

“ _ Pining? _ ”

“Yes,” she said solemnly. “We all saw it, you can’t deny it now.”

“There’s nothing to deny,” Hermione insisted. “We had a completely normal conversation, I said something he didn’t particularly enjoy and he disappeared into your circle for the rest of the night.”

“If that’s the case why was he blushing so fiercely?”

Hermione shrugged, standing to wash out her mug. She watched as the water mixed with the blood on her hands and excess coffee. “I’m not meant to understand the intricacies of Malfoy’s mind.”

“But you kind of are.” Ginny pointed to her chest. “Bound partners and all.”

“Do you just intrude into Theo’s mind whenever?”

Ginny’s brow furrowed. She shrugged after a moment. “I’ve never really thought about it like that. Theo and I signed a contract saying we’d root our bind. After about a week together we stopped fighting and just gave into the impulse. We haven’t hid anything from each other since then.”

“Oh, of course.” She returned to her mug.

It was so easy for Hermione to forget. So easy for her to get wrapped up in the confines of her own mind. Draco and she didn’t represent anything typical, not even when it came to their bind. With the two of them, everything was backwards. In the time of war Hermione had learned the art of nuance. As time went on it became more standard than the brash, straightforward talking style she used to embrace in without a second thought. 

With Draco, things weren’t that easy. He could both say what he meant and code something else, equally as important, using the same words. It was as impressive as it was infuriating. She could spend hours replaying their conversations in her head and  _ still  _ find new details she hadn’t originally discovered. 

It wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed things between her and Draco were shifting. She had noticed it earlier than probably anyone else. But she hadn’t the time to unpack it all, or the energy to ponder the implications of what it all meant. 

It was war. No one was guaranteed another day. If she let her guard down now, it would only open her up for more hurt. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take before she never fully recovered. Or maybe it was already too late. It was quite possible she was already too damaged and just hadn’t noticed yet. Maybe the others had and were just too polite to point it out.

“Ginny.”

Hermione turned to see Theo walking into the kitchen, looking more serious than she was used to seeing. He’d insisted on not taking wolfsbane for this transformation, but the raid Kingsley had scheduled was on a full moon. It wasn’t a coincidence. 

He hadn’t taken the news well. The downstairs bathroom door now had a hole in it the size of Theo’s fist. 

He had given into fits of anger more often as of late. Storming out of rooms had turned into fits of yelling and rage turned physical. He would disappear for a few hours, returning later in a much too cheery mood and a refusal to speak about what had happened. 

Theo had begrudgingly taken the wolfsbane potion and participated in the raid. He looked awful now. Theo was quite literally dragging his feet, blood seeping from a gash on his forearm. He could probably use a visit to the infirmary. Hermione couldn’t imagine the emotional toil of fighting off an impending werewolf transformation while also dueling in the midst of a war.

“Hermione, do you think I could talk to Ginny for a moment?”

“Only if you agree to visit the infirmary directly after.”

Theo nodded with a tired smile, and Hermione left the room.

\---

After the door had swung shut on Hermione, Ginny turned on Theo with a sharp gaze. He flinched back against her anger, so familiar in its place but foreign when aimed at him.

“You told me you’d go to the infirmary as soon as we returned.”

“I was on my way up when Draco intercepted me.” 

Once Ginny’s shoulders had drooped a bit he limped to the barstool next to her. Salazar’s balls, he truly was sore. And his wolf was  _ pissed.  _ He had been keeping him at bay with the promise of him coming out to play last night. The moment the wolfsbane had hit his tongue a rage so dark and frightening had overcome him. It had been happening more and more lately, but this time he feared he wouldn’t be able to suppress it. Luna had been helping him. Showing him muggle meditation methods and layering radish necklaces around his neck to fight off wrackspurts.

“They increase the chance of your anger getting the best of you. These should help.”

And he had been angry the day Kingsley had told him about the raid. It could have been planned for any day, but they picked the full moon so he’d  _ have  _ to take the wolfsbane. He was so mad that he’d locked himself into a soundproof, wreck proof room that was designed specifically for him. Apparently they had learned a thing from Remus Lupin. Theo hadn’t even known he was a werewolf. He tried to match up the calm demeanor of his third year teacher with the anger he felt inside and nothing made sense. 

Luna had found him two hours later, carrying different herbs and plants and jewelry. He refused to let her within six feet of him. His body was quivering with anger and he was having trouble unballing his fists. He was terrified to hurt her. He had no idea what he was capable of. Luna didn’t seem to notice. 

She went on about edits the Quibbler had published about werewolf rights and the plans she had when the war was over. 

“The Ministry said the Registry was for our protection, but if they were wrong about the war uprising, I think they could have been wrong about you, too.”

“Me?”

Luna nodded, grabbing his hand and playing with his fingers absentmindedly. He hadn’t realized she’d gotten closer. He hadn’t noticed the tension leave his fingers. 

“I’d like to meet your wolf one day. I know he frightens you, but I’d like to get to know all parts of you.”

“He’s an animal. Wouldn’t even recognize you as anything besides a meal.”

“Still. I don’t like to think of him as something separate from you.”

“He’s like a parasite. He’s living in my body without my permission and everyday he takes over more and more. Soon I’ll be more beast than human.”

Luna smiled up at him, leaning into him slightly. Theo calmed instantly. His hands had stopped shaking. He didn’t feel angry anymore. When had that happened?

“Some people think everything happens for a reason,” she said. Her eyes shined up at him. He melted into her touch. 

“A load of rubbish.”

“I like to think that your wolf has always been a part of you. Just dormant until the right time.”

If anyone else had said it, he’d be thrashing against the walls with unrepressed rage. But things with Luna were different. Luna was different. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like you had the capability to feel all the things the wolf brings out with you. When you were bit he just woke it all up. But it’s all you. The wolf just lets you blame him because it’s what you need.”

“You’re justifying my anger?”

She shrugged before pecking him on the nose and rising to her feet. 

“You’re allowed to be upset without reason, Theo. You don’t have to mask your pain with humor anymore. And for that I’m thankful to your wolf.”

At the end of the talk, he did feel better. He didn’t think it had anything to do with the radish necklace.

“Theo.”

He snapped his head back to face Ginny. She gave off no indication of emotion but he felt her concern through their bind. It wrapped around his heart and tugged him closer. He took her arm and a washcloth and began wiping the dirt and blood off her. 

“There’s been a loss of intel from the werewolves.”

Ginny tilted her head, grabbing the washcloth from his hands and waving her wand to wring it out over the sink. Pink tinged water coated the sink. 

“That’s good, right? It could mean they’ve stopped working with the Death Eaters.”

“It’s possible, but unlikely. More likely that they’ve deemed that information Draco doesn’t need to know.”

“Why would they do that?”

Voldemort was a tricky man, Theo knew this firsthand. His inner circle never changed unless he felt the need to kill one of them, but those who were his confidantes did. 

“Tom rotates who gets what information that way he can be sure no one person has everything they need to take him down. If I had to guess, Draco’s been taken out of that circle.”

“Why’s he telling you this?” Ginny was growing even more concerned and the tight twisting in his stomach was more to do with what she was discovering on her own than what he was about to say. 

“This is something only I can do,” he said, but she was already shaking her head and standing. 

“No no no. You can’t even be considering this.”

“I have to do this. The intel we were receiving was already minimal and so spotty that we didn’t know they could transform on any given night.”

“We have that information now. What more could we need?”

She was pacing and before she could even consider it Theo had the door blocked. 

“Please stay and listen.”

“I know your call for a pack is strong but you can’t be this desperate.”

She was wrong. It was the hardest part about this with Ginny. 

While Luna was there to calm him and bring him back to reality, Ginny fueled him when he needed it. She never mentioned his wolf, never even asked anything. Not when he wanted to stop taking the wolfsbane, not when he marched off in angry rages and certainly not when he returned, bruised and battered and bleeding. She didn’t even tell him he needed to go find a healer. 

She was a solace. In a world where everything revolves around his new counterpart, Ginny knew exactly when he wanted to pretend like it didn’t. 

He’d been drunk when he’d told her about the call to a pack. How he could feel it even when the moon wasn’t full, could hear the howls of the other wolves calling out to him. It was a physical ache to ignore it. He spent most nights tossing and turning to avoid the urge to run towards it. 

The hurt in Ginny’s eyes was apparent and quickly covered up. 

And  _ of course  _ it would bother her. Ginny had been all he needed for so long. And he  _ needed  _ Ginny in a way that wasn’t anything he’d experienced before. Ginny was all he wanted for a while, until he'd smartened up and noticed Luna. 

Now they were the two parts of Theo’s overflowing heart. He was complete as long as he had them. Everyone else was an added bonus, but if he had Ginny and Luna by his side then he’d accomplish anything. 

His relationship with Luna was his choice all the way. With Ginny that was less true, but honestly he didn’t care about the semantics. Ginny was his and he was hers. Bound for life. It meant something. 

But now he needed a pack. Not in a way that he longed for one, but because his claws ached with suppression and his throat was constricted with repressed howls. 

“I’m sorry, Ginny. You wouldn’t understand.”

Because she didn’t know his wolf or any of his wolf compulsions. It was a completely separate entity from what they shared. 

It was such a relief when he’d realized this. When he’d woken the next day to find Ginny safe and uninjured. And he was  _ glad  _ to have the wolf to himself. Glad that Ginny didn’t need to feel and deal with all the extra baggage that came with being a werewolf. 

But for the past two years they had shared everything; the good and the bad. So telling her she didn’t understand…

“Am I not enough for you?”

He should be angry. Because it was a manipulative thing to say, something he recognized from watching his abusive father capture unsuspecting ladies one after another. 

But Ginny was so desperate to save him. He could see it in her eyes, could feel it in their bind. It was overflowing with fear and sadness and  _ betrayal.  _

And he understood. But it didn’t change anything. 

“This will always be the most important. You and Luna. But I have to do this. I have to figure out what being a wolf is. And if I can help the Order while I do it…”

Ginny let out a shuddering breath and then embraced Theo. 

“I hate you. I hate you so much for this and if you get yourself killed because of a pack of werewolves—“

“I don’t even know the semantics of it all. Don’t go planning my funeral yet.”

\---

Theo was throwing clothes into a bag, trying to decide if werewolves would prefer wizarding robes or muggle clothes. 

“I can’t look too posh, otherwise they’ll know I’m a pureblood and they’ll start asking questions.”

Luna was on Ginny’s bed flipping through a week old copy of  _ The Daily Prophet.  _

“I imagine they won’t be too fond of you at first either way.”

“You’re right, love. They hate upper wizarding societies but are fighting with a fascist leader to eliminate muggles.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should go for a half-blood look. Do you think Potter has any tips?”

Luna gazed up from the text with a playful look; one that made his heart stutter and clench when he remembered how little of it he’d be seeing soon. 

“I don’t think Harry often gives out fashion advice, but I imagine he’d be enthusiastic if you approached him.”

Theo plopped down on the bed and placed his head in her lap. 

“I don’t think enthusiasm will help me know. I might need to be more brooding and dark.” He sat up. “Perhaps I should visit Draco.”

“You’re a great actor. If you’d like I can make a warglesplat charm for you to carry in your bag.”

Theo embraced her then. Flattening her until they were chest to chest and his nose was buried in her obscenely soft hair. She smelled of gardens— vegetable, not flower— and sage. It was the most comforting scent in the world. 

“That would be wonderful. Maybe you could design a back up, just in case something happens to the first.”

“As many as you want. Perhaps Ginny and Harry would like ones as well, for reminders of you.”

“I’ll be checking in twice a week, Luna. We’ve tracked down the closest pack and it’s less than ten miles from here. In wolf time that’s nothing. I’m mere minutes away.”

Luna nodded, eyes dropping to his lips. “Draco made the pack sound angry and vicious. He made some very stereotypical claims about werewolves. I hope that didn’t bother you.”

“They’re dangerous, Luna. Werewolves are unstable and not in control of themselves. It’s not a stereotype, it’s just the truth.”

“Do you think you’ll be safe?” Her voice was light and airy, in the way she always seemed to be. It made it impossible to lie to her. She asked the questions no one else would and the worst part was she didn’t even realize. She had no idea the power she held. She could become Minister for Magic with a simple bat of her eyelashes. 

“We’ve got a solid plan. Theodore Nott is dead and it’s not like I was ever that well known without my name, so I’m not worried about being discovered. And luckily Theo is common enough that I can still go by it. The werewolves hardly pay attention to politics or ask many questions, so my fabricated backstory will probably fall by the wayside.”

“But will you be safe?” 

Curse Luna and her ability to always know when Theo was talking around a subject. Because  _ of course  _ he wasn’t going to be safe. Transforming into a wolf already left him bruised, broken and exhausted. And that was just the one time. The pack was transforming almost  _ daily.  _ And they fought. A lot. It was practically all they did until they were called into battle. 

They had no plans. No schedule. It was anarchy, with just a corrupt pack leader heading the entire situation. 

Not the Alpha that bit Theo, but his wolf didn’t mind. As long as he was with others, maybe Theo would be able to think. 

“I’ll have my wolf to watch over me.”

He said it because it was true, and because he knew it would put Luna’s mind at peace. She didn’t need to know all the gory details. He needed to remember to ask Draco or Hermione to send a healer to meet him halfway so Luna and Ginny wouldn’t see him afterwards. 

\---

“It’s been a few weeks since Blaise has been back, how do you feel?”

Pansy cocked her head to the side at Neville. Had he really interrupted their snogging for this?

“It’s fun to watch him and Seamus awkwardly flirt with each other, but I’ve no interest in speaking to him.”

Neville raised his eyebrows. “Flirting? What do you mean flirting?”

“Neville, you are  _ so  _ oblivious.” Pansy sat up, pulling the sheet around her chest and leaving Neville’s chest exposed. Oh, how she loved his pectorals… “They remind me of a certain other awkward flirting couple.”

“Please don’t mention them. It seems every time you even think about Draco he comes bursting through the door.”

“He’s sick in love and Granger is oblivious.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know Draco.”

Before all the craziness with the war, Draco’s parents had attempted to engage him with Astoria. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Astoria, he had insisted, but if he was going to be stuck with someone he was never going to be in love with he wanted it to be Pansy. And as unromantic as that prospect was, her other options were Adrian Pucey or Marcus Flint. 

Love wasn’t in the books. The choice was easily made.

His parents needed to be convinced of their relationship. They were all for marrying for love, but only under the correct circumstances. 

So from fourth year on Pansy and Draco began a torrid love affair that would have muggle screenwriters bowing at their feet. Pansy was  _ good  _ at pretending. She almost looked forward to it. 

And Draco wasn’t bad at kissing. In fact she quite enjoyed their snogs. For a while she thought she could even look forward to marrying him. They’d been best friends for years,  _ maybe  _ she could force herself to love him. 

And then sixth year happened. 

Draco has always been cold, but she’d have to be daft to not notice the difference in his demeanor. He was cold, even more so than usual. And he stopped caring about their stunt. 

That enraged Pansy. Rumors began about Draco’s disinterest. The first owl from her parents came in November. They wanted to set up a meeting over Christmas break with the Flint family. 

That night, she stood outside of the Room of Requirement (she’d known he’d been going here for weeks) and demanded answers in a manner so loud and boisterous that he had to give in just to shut her up. 

She was horrified. To know he had been dealing with all this by himself, and to see the Mark branded into him at all. 

Draco was a child. Younger than the others in so many ways. His father had kept him innocent, filling his head with innocuous dreams and lies and not letting him see the world for how it was. And he was forced to realize this all in the span of one summer. 

“I’ll stand with you. And the Dark Lord. Anything you need,” she’d vowed. 

And she had. Until she couldn’t anymore. 

“You said Draco was never in love with you.”

Pansy shook out of her memories and rolled her eyes. “He wasn’t. That’s how I know what to look for when he’s truly feeling something. The bloke’s confused right now, but he’ll realize it sooner or later. Probably after Granger returns from some life or death mission. Just you wait, Longbottom.”

Neville smirked, putting his hand up to cup Pansy’s cheek. “I just wanted to check in with you. I know things are different now, what with Theo being gone.”

Pansy’s eyes widened. She turned to Neville and his spine straightened in worry. 

“Oh no, Neville. How can this be?”

She’d overlooked it. Underestimated. Been cocky. 

“Pans, what’s wrong?” He moved to embrace her and she pulled back, dropping the sheet and beginning to pace. Neville’s eyes dropped to her bare chest for only a moment before shooting her a confused look. 

“Don’t you see? Blaise is the newest member, all confused and full of hate that’s been misplaced. Theo’s gone off and shacked up with the wolves, and Draco’s a double agent.”

“Yes?” Neville answered hesitantly.

“Neville.” She turned to him. “That makes  _ me  _ the most boring Slytherin.”

Neville was silent for a moment before he barked out a laugh. He laughed so hard that Pansy was offended. This was a serious conversation. 

“Yes,” Neville finally got out, “and if you add on those two torrid love affairs you’ve just described then you’re well and truly in last place.”

Pansy threw her hands in the air. “Exactly! Oh Neville, maybe we should break up. Just to spice things up a bit.”

Neville grabbed Pansy by her waist and pulled her back into bed. 

“Pans, life with you is as interesting as I’ve ever wanted.”

And then his lips were on hers, burning away all thoughts of other men. She kissed him back with all the ferocity she had their first time, all tongue and teeth and pent up energy that she never knew she had. 

Everything with Draco had been staged. She enjoyed the act, but never the outcome. She thought kissing Draco was nice, but that’s because she never knew what it was like to want, to crave after someone else’s touch and taste. 

There was no time for thinking with Neville. All rational thought disappeared with the first touch of his always perfectly moisturized lips. It was the best way to get sidetracked, the only way to forget what was happening around them. And she loved it. Merlin, she loved him. 

She broke off, panting and rubbing her hands down his chest. “I love you, Neville.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing that. Tell me again.”

She slapped him playfully. “Take off your pants, Longbottom.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was SO. MUCH. FUN. The last few chapters I've been working on are necessary, but arduous. This was such a nice break.  
> I just finished chapter 26 and I'm not sold on the direction I took it... so if my chapter releases slow down it's because I am STUMPED. I know where I want to go, but I'm not quite sure how I want to get there...  
> I'm trying not to write one shots. I really want to finish this story, buut if the passion calls for it...


	21. The Adjudication of Inebriation

“Blaise, if you want to live you’ll have to start doing more than throwing up shield charms.” Hermione cast another hex towards Seamus. Zabini blocked it, but once again stood stagnant and open instead of firing back. 

Hermione shot a bruising hex, nonlethal, his way and hit him in the shoulder. He staggered back a few steps. 

“You’re wide open.”

“Fuck  _ off  _ Granger,” he hissed, palm coming up to caress his injury. 

“When you don’t cast back you interrupt the rhythm. Neither you nor your partner will be able to work together if you keep disrupting the flow.”

Zabini kept his mouth shut this time, opting for a glare. Seamus stood awkwardly to the side, hand cradling an injured elbow. Hermione placed her gaze on Blaise.

“You had no trouble firing back when we dueled outside the warehouse,” she said. “What’s your hesitancy now?”

“I’ve told you, I’ve no interest in fighting for the Order.”

“Yet here you are.”

Hermione crossed her arms. Blaise dropped his eyes. 

“Isn’t there some type of trial period? One where I’m not immediately thrown into battle against the people I had just called comrades a few weeks ago?”

“This is war, Zabini.”

“Well maybe I’m not made out for it.”

“I tried that one on her already,” Seamus said. “She told me that wasn’t an option. Quite rudely I might add.”

Blaise didn’t respond, merely clenched his jaw. 

It had been like this for weeks. Seamus and Blaise skirted by each other every chance they got; refusing to sit by one another, making excuses why they shouldn’t duel and bickering with each other over the most trivial things. It was exhausting to watch, especially after seeing how well they functioned together on the battlefield. 

Pansy appeared at her side, sweat dripping down her temples despite the gusty winds that had picked up within the last hour. The sky was grey, as if snow might start falling at any moment. 

She took a swig from a pink water bottle before handing it to Hermione. 

“They remind me of you and Draco.”

Hermione gaped. “Should I be offended?”

“I just mean,” she began, biting back a laugh, “that they’re fighting their bind, just like you two.”

“That’s what we were supposed to do, Pansy. Our bind was meant to be surface level. If we interacted too much we would have rooted.”

“Oh, and that hasn’t happened?” Pansy raised her eyebrows and Hermione became particularly interested in Luna and Harry’s new battle formation. 

“Harry, that looks quite promising!” she called across the field.

Pansy slapped Hermione’s wrist. 

“Granger, I will not be ignored.”

Hermione pulled back, shooting her a glare that would make Draco proud. “Seems like prissy Pansy is back in full force.”

“Your words, however hurtful you intend them to be, will not distract me.” She licked her lips and eyed Hermione suspiciously. “Your relationship with Draco has… shifted.”

“Do you want me to continue to hate him?” Hermione asked. 

“No, but I expect it’s been difficult for you to accept.”

Hermione dropped her gaze, choosing to look out to where Blaise and Seamus were now exchanging awkward conversation. Hermione bit back a smile. 

“That does look  _ awfully  _ familiar.”

“Do you think they’ll be okay? Or have we completely ruined everything by rushing things with Blaise.”

Hermione paused, considering. She thought about Draco, how she felt their binding together was a sacrifice she had made for the Order. She saw no bright side; no good outcome to the situation she had been thrusted into. She was sure her happiest days laid in her past, somewhere between cozy library chairs and brisk quidditch pitch winds. 

Draco, in more than one way, was a surprise. His character growth shocked her more than anything, but his quick wit, willingness to put himself on the line and emotionally stunted  _ need  _ that she so closely identified with all drew her in. 

Happiness might have been a stretch to hope for. 

“I think they’re going to make it out just fine.”

Then again, maybe not. 

\---

Hermione sat on the couch, squished between Draco and Harry, surrounded by her friends and with a tumbler of fire whiskey in her hand, laughing. 

It was one of those rare nights where no raids were happening and all battle plans had already been drawn up and gone over three times. There was nothing pressing to do, no training or spells that needed to be immediately learned. 

Naturally, as young adults, that meant it was the prime time to get rip roaring drunk. Hermione had no issue with that. She pulled her glass to her lips and looked over to Draco. 

He was laughing at a joke Neville was telling, hand thrown nonchalantly over the back of the couch and his own cup pressed against his cheek, presumably cooling the flush that had arrived about three drinks in. 

“Weird, isn’t it?” He turned his head towards her and raised his brows. “We could just as easily be in a common room right now.”

“It’s nice to pretend like the war isn’t happening sometimes.” She smiled up at him, reaching over to grab the bottle of fire whiskey. “Do the Death Eaters ever do anything like this?”

Draco snorted and held his glass out for her to refill. “Drink, yes. But they would rather sit and chat about their finances and investments instead of playing card games that doesn’t involve gambling real Galleons.”

Hermione gasped and threw a hand to her chest in horror. “Well now we definitely need to win this war. Can you imagine how droll the world would be without the influence of us?”

Draco shook his head and chuckled. “Glad to see your priorities are in place.”

Hermione could feel the happy vibration of their bind in her chest and the motion mixed with the alcohol made her pleasantly sleepy. She longed to rest her head on Draco’s chest and close her eyes but she refrained. 

“Mione,” Ron began and Hermione turned towards him. He was sitting on the other side of Harry, Dean perched on the arm of the couch beside him, gesturing wildly and splashing amber liquid onto the floor until Ron grabbed his arm to steady it. “Who’s your favorite Weasley sibling?”

Hermione stiffened. She searched Ron’s eyes, looking for any hint of malicious intent, any sign that he knew something he shouldn’t. But when his gaze remained curious and open, she relaxed. 

“Ginny, of course.”

Ron balked while Ginny ran around the crowd, collecting high fives and whooping loudly. 

“Ginny doesn’t count. She’s a girl.”

The room broke out into outrage and several plastic cups were tossed at Ron. 

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he insisted, shielding his head. “Let me try again: which Weasley  _ brother  _ is your favorite?”

“Am I to settle an argument?”

“Yes,” said Ron. “The twins seem to think you’ll pick one of them over me.”

Fred’s stare burned into the side of her head from where he stood leaning against the fireplace. Beside her, Draco snorted. 

“Preposterous,” she declared. “Clearly Percy is my favorite.”

The group broke out into laughter. Percy was the only Weasley that hadn’t come to the Order to fight. He still stood faithfully by Umbridge’s side, despite the atrocities that had been brought down on the Weasley’s during the Battle of Hogwarts. Instead of mourning his loss, the Weasley’s had decided to poke fun at him for his poor decision making. 

“ _ You either laugh or cry about it _ ,” Fred said one night while they were wrapped up in her sheets, before a particularly nasty raid was to be completed. 

“No accounting for taste,” Fred murmured drily. His tone was off. Hermione wasn’t the only one who had noticed, because several heads turned his way. 

“Fred?” she questioned, and it was all too much. There were too many people with sharp eyes, too many trained in the art of deception for anything else to be said. Fred refused to use Occlumency in his everyday life and his feelings were written all over his face. Feelings Hermione pretended she wasn’t aware of. When he didn’t answer, she dropped her gaze to her lap, fingering the glass pattern on her cup. 

It was silent, everyone watching the encounter with baited breath. Fred said nothing, but after a moment his footfalls echoed in the room as he exited through the swinging door. The creaking of the hinges were extra loud, causing Hermione to flinch. 

Draco placed a comforting hand on her thigh. The thought was nice, but it was all too obvious. Someone would start putting pieces together if she didn’t say something soon. 

“He’s a piss poor drunk,” George commented. “Hates losing in everyday life, never mind when he’s using a wall to hold him up.” George’s eyes landed on Hermione and recognition sparkled in them. “Would also probably be the first time he’s been ranked below Percy by a girl, so who can blame him, really.”

The crowd burst into laughter and Hermione’s shoulders deflated. Conversation flowed freely after that, eyes averting to other companions and Hermione was grateful. 

George’s gaze stayed put on her for a moment, and she was more mad at herself for thinking that he  _ wouldn’t  _ know, because of course he would. The twins, the  _ bound  _ twins, already told each other everything, even before the confines of the bind made it so. 

She nodded her head at him in a silent thanks, and he raised his eyebrows back before lifting his drink to his lips. Angelina asked him a question and he turned to face her, expression dropping into one of engagement. 

Fred might not be a master of hiding and schooling expressions, but George seemed to have picked up his slack. 

Hermione wanted to sneak out and find Fred, but it would all be too suspicious. She couldn’t risk it. So instead she plastered a fake smile on her face, grabbed the muggle playing cards Harry was holding out towards her, and engaged in five games of poker, laughing at the correct intervals when Draco’s confusion became humorous. 

“This is just preposterous,” he claimed when Hermione tossed in a few more chips. “Why is it that the cards with only one value are worth the most?” He gestured to two cards in Hermione’s hand. The group around him groaned and threw down their hands. 

“Hermione always wins,” Neville grumbled as she stacked the chips carefully in her growing pile. 

“Well boys,” she began, standing up and stretching her arms over her head, “as fun as it’s been kicking your asses, I’m far more drunk than I should be, considering I’m on early morning foraging duty.”

It was true, too. Dawn would rise in just a few hours and she really would  _ prefer  _ being sober as she clambered through dense forests searching for rare ingredients that only bloomed on specific days of the month during the early morning hours. 

Draco stood with her and they exited together, bidding goodbye to their companions. 

Once they were out the door, Draco let a snort of laughter out. 

A snort. The prince of Slytherin stood beside her, drunk and stumbling and  _ snorting.  _

“What could possibly be so funny?” 

“You’re so  _ obvious,”  _ he began, his quiet laughter turning into  _ snickering.  _ Who was this, anyway? “I always knew Gryffindors were dense, but bloody hell, that crowd is just straight up oblivious.”

Hermione stopped her path towards the stairs. “You know there were a fair bit of Slytherins in there that all seemed to be on the same page. So maybe you’re insulting the wrong group of people.”

She was pulled into an adjoining room suddenly, a yelp leaving her throat in the least stealth like way. Moody would have her head if he knew. 

“ _ First  _ of all,” began a female voice, so familiar in it’s accusatory tone that Hermione rolled her eyes. “We Slytherin only acknowledge and call out something when it’s useful to us, so don’t go assuming we don’t realize a scandal when we see one.” Pansy crossed her arms over her chest, painted black nails shining in the moonlight spilling in from the window. 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Feigning ignorance was the best course of action, she decided. 

Draco, however, had other plans. 

“Granger, just admit it. Pansy won’t let you free until you’ve given her every last detail of your sordid love affair.”

“ _ Affair?”  _ Pansy’s voice rose a few octaves. Hermione’s head pounded. 

“Malfoy,” Hermione scolded. “Does alcohol always make you this dramatic?”

“I’d like to think I’ve always had a flair,” he said. 

“That’s true,” Pansy agreed. “Do you remember fifth year when—"

“Shouldn’t the focus be on Granger?” 

“Right,” Pansy agreed, turning her attention back to Hermione, who was quite interested in what could have happened in fifth year. “You and Fred Weasley are in love? For how long?”

“I am not  _ in love  _ with Fred,” she replied through grit teeth. 

“No, they’re just shagging,” Draco supplied helpfully. His voice was devoid of any emotion, but Hermione couldn’t help but feel the evil intent. He was  _ too  _ emotionless about this. 

Hermione reached out to smack him on the shoulder, and despite his state of intoxication— that apparently made his tongue so loose— he side stepped her palm and stumbled into the wall. In the most childish thing she’d ever seen him do, he stuck his tongue out at her. 

“ _ Shagging?”  _ Pansy’s voice had reached a near shriek this time, and Hermione fought the urge to paste a hand over her mouth. 

“Pansy, if you get any louder than this it will no longer be a private conversation.”

“How long?” she pressed. “And how come you never told me?” Her voice sounded hurt, and it hadn’t occurred to Hermione until this very moment that Pansy considered her a friend— someone that she would confide her secrets with. 

“Pansy,” Hermione breathed, feeling sentimental suddenly. Her eyes itched and she threw her Occlumency walls up so suddenly she swayed on her feet. 

“I hadn’t told anybody. Not even Harry.”

Pansy sniffed lightly, turning her head slightly to the side; staring just past Hermione. “What about Ron?”

“ _ Especially  _ not Ron.”

“No one?”

“No one.” 

“Except Draco.”

“What?” Hermione turned to Draco, who had a smug look on his face despite leaning against the wall heavily. She pointed at him. “He doesn’t count. He figured it out and I can’t lie to him. I’ve tried, trust me.”

Pansy eyed them for a moment, distrust clouding her features in a way Hermione hadn’t seen since her first few months with the Order. 

Hermione had no idea Pansy’s emotions could be so fragile. 

“Fine,” she relented. “I trust you.” 

And just like that, Hermione had another friend. A friend she’d had for ages, but one she’d never realized until just this moment. 

Perhaps it wasn’t just Draco that made her future brighter.

\---

“You know, you really should stop fucking the Weasley.”

“Yes, of course.” Hermione would have said anything if it meant Draco would lay down in his bed. He was drunk, far too drunk to be climbing up the stairs backwards like he was. 

“I mean it.” He stopped so suddenly Hermione nearly bumped into him. His eyes bore into hers. Her breath caught in her throat. 

“Why?” she whispered. 

“Because if I have to watch you leave your bed for a Weasley again, I might just off myself.”

And then her back was slammed against the wall and his mouth was on hers, searing hot and tasting dangerously of firewhiskey, so strong that Hermione wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or Draco’s kiss that was driving her closer to intoxication.

She gave in immediately, dropping all the flimsy pretenses she had created over the past few months as to why this was a bad idea. As his tongue licked at the seam of her lips, she couldn’t think of a single reason. 

His hands were in her hair, pulling on it so her mouth angled upward and he tilted his head. She tightened her arms around his neck because this was  _ it.  _ This was everything she’d ever need. No amount of therapy or mind healing potions could ever make her feel as whole and entirely human as Draco’s mouth on hers. 

“Love your hair,” he murmured between kisses, curling it around his fingers. “Smells like flowers.”

“It’s the hairspray,” she breathed. 

He paused, lips hovering just above hers, eyes cast down onto her. His brow furrowed. 

“The what?”

“Never mind.” And she pulled him back in because it wasn’t enough, the feeling had started to ebb the moment he’d pulled away and she wasn’t ready to face it. She let out breathy moans as he delved back into her mouth, all Draco expertise and drunk sloppiness combining into a dangerous concoction that had her toes curling and skin heating up. She moved her hands from his neck down to his shoulders, dragging towards the front of his chest and sliding her hands under his robes. He shuddered under her touch and suddenly his lips were off hers and he was just staring. 

She didn’t stop moving her palms, didn’t want to lose the momentum they had already built. Their bind was thrumming with a happy energy she had become so familiar with, but this time it was mixed with the thrill of something new, as if this was always supposed to happen. 

She rubbed tiny circles into Draco’s shoulders while he studied her, eyes roaming her face from the top of her hairline down to her chin.

“I think— I’m pretty sure I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw your ass in those cotton pants.”

“Leggings, Draco,” she corrected. “And I doubt I would have willingly participated back then.”

He blinked sleepily at her before leaning his forehead against her shoulder. “I’m very convincing. I’m sure you would have come round.”

She nudged him up and then walked up a few steps before turning back and snatching his hand. He really was far too drunk to be delving into new territory like this.

“I’m not sure how well you’ll remember this in the morning, or how pleased you’ll be with yourself.”

“I’m very pleased with myself,” he insisted, stumbling up behind her. Truly, she probably should have stopped this sooner, but the surprise had caught her off guard, and if she wanted a moment to enjoy the good things in life… well she just hoped sober Draco would understand. “Are you mad at me?”

Hermione stayed facing forward. Turning down the hall towards their rooms. “Unfortunately Draco, out of all the infuriating things you’ve done to me, that doesn’t even rank top ten.”

He tugged on her then, bringing her to a stop. “I just— I wasn’t sure if this is what you wanted. I shouldn’t even had made a move but— well I didn’t plan it, but your ass walking up the stairs and the way your curl were bouncing—"

“There’s been a lot of talk about my ass tonight,” Hermione mused. “And you were walking in front of me anyways.”

Draco shrugged. “I’ve seen it enough to know it’s a glorious sight.”

_ “ _ And you  _ will  _ pay for all that staring once you’re sober enough to remember it’s rude.” She stepped into Draco’s room. 

“I stare when I’m not inebriated as well. In fact if I’m behind you, I’m probably staring at it.”

“Draco!”

“Muggle pants truly are a wonder.”

“Lay down,” she gestured to the bed. “We’ll talk about this later.”

And if he refused to let her leave, Hermione pretended to put up a fight. 

And if she stayed to snog him a bit more, only stopping when his hands began to wander past her shoulders, then she’d claim ignorance the next day.

\---

The next morning, just minutes after pestering Draco into a few hours of sleep, Hermione was tiptoeing out of his room to head to the apparition point on the roof. On her way up, just passed the squeaky step three from the top, she ran face first into Fred. 

“Fred,” she said, fixing her hair. “You’re up early.”

“I heard you were foraging.”

“Yes, the potion’s lab is lacking in some rarer ingredients. This might be the last opportunity to forage before the frost sets in.”

He looked awful and hungover; possibly still drunk. She doubted he’d gotten any sleep himself. 

“There’s a few hangover potions still left downstairs. If you go down now you can claim one before everyone wakes up.”

“I actually wanted to come with you— if you don’t mind.”

“No— that’s— that sounds like a great idea. I could use an extra set of hands.”

She stood to the side, letting him pass so he could grab the potion, but he continued on towards the top. Hermione sighed, stomping her way up behind him. 

He side alonged with her, and they spent the first hour or so picking herbs and digging for roots. The silence was deafening. 

“Are you okay?” 

Fred’s head snapped up, hands filled with flowered plants that were essential in Dreamless Sleep, one of their more in demand potions. 

“Do you remember what I asked you a few months ago?”

“No.”

“You asked me why I chose you. And you told me you didn’t know.”

“I did say that.”

“But you were lying.” He bent over to drop his findings into a basket. “You do know why.”

“How can you claim that?”

“Because you’re Hermione Granger and you don’t engage in anything without knowing all the answers.”

She stayed silent, wiping her dirty hands on her jeans. The sun was almost peering over the horizon; they were nearly out of time. 

“I’m a safe bet,” she said finally. “Familiar enough to remind you of all the good things in life: Hogwarts, your family, all the unused joke ideas you had in your head that would never become reality.”

Fred sat on the ground, hands clasped over his sprawled knees. A line of baskets labeled with herb names sat between them. 

“But distant enough that I would never need any commitment. We’re the same, you and I.”

“Hopeless?”

“Broken,” she corrected. “Unable to properly identify our emotions in the way everyone around us seems to be able to. It’s like,” she sat down across from him, pulling out her scale to weigh the ingredients, “the war reminded everyone how precious life was. So there were those who decided to embrace life and those around them with an open heart—“

“And then there’s us—“

“Those who couldn’t bear any more pain and hid themselves away, trying to guard what little humanity they had left.” She paused, turning to look at him. “Do you know what makes us so different from everyone else?”

The sun was rising now, orange rays coming out like spears, slicing through every ounce of darkness in the forest. Fred’s eyes were sparkling, his body loose in a way she hadn’t seen since her fifth year, when they had opened up their underground joke shop. Hermione had mostly condemned them back then, but now she saw how opportunistic and  _ smart  _ it had been; the only glimmer of hope in an otherwise dark time. She wondered, if the joke shop was still open, if they would have been as successful as she felt in her bones. 

“I almost died at the Battle of Hogwarts. Not many people know that.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Hermione had been there. She had thrown the shield up while Fred’s back was turned. The impact of the  _ protego  _ had thrust him forward, and when he turned all he saw was a stunned Death Eater and Hermione standing off to the side, the tip of her wand smoking with the evidence of an offensive spell. 

“That’s why I chose you.”

“Because I defended your honor?”

“No— though don’t get me wrong, that was  _ totally  _ hot.”

Hermione let out a peel of laughter. Fred nudged her shoulder. 

“But you were there. It was a broken moment and I should have been dead. And you were there to witness it. Almost dying made me realize how vulnerable life was— and I couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t cope because all I could see when I shut my eyes was that same scenario— except I was in your place, and on the ground was one of my family. Sometimes George, sometimes Ron. The worst were the ones with Ginny. And I stood there, scared and frozen, watching them die.”

“So you decided to shag me because…?”

“Do you remember that night, about two years into the war, where Moody announced his intent to begin raids?”

Hermione nodded. They had spent so much time under the radar, trying to build their numbers after the Battle of Hogwarts. When Moody announced his plans to begin attacks, the whole Order was shocked. They had hardly been more than thirty people at the time, and most of them were poorly trained. They were barely staying afloat in those days, and had yet to come up with a proper way to train. It seemed so long ago now. 

“I remember.”

“And how did you feel?”

Hermione tried to place herself back in that day. She was seated between Harry and Ron, as had so often been the case in those days. Back before binding spells had been created, and they weren’t yet defined by the teams they had been delegated to. 

“Excited,” she decided. “I was eager to begin to end the war.”

“And how did everyone else feel?”

“Angry. Upset. Scared. They weren’t ready for what needed to be done.”

“And you argued with them about that. Do you remember who else took your side?”

“Moody, of course,” she recalled. “And… you.”

She hadn’t remembered that until now. Truly this situation wasn’t so unusual— just one of the many disagreements she had with the Order— namely Harry and Ron, because everyone else seemed to fall behind their decisions. 

The room— now known as the War Room, but back then had just been thought of as a  _ room—  _ had literally been divided into two halves. The side she chose was lacking in support— aside from herself, Moody and Fred. 

“George was so mad at me,” he chuckled. “Back then he didn’t understand the ‘need for violence,’ as he’d called it. But standing there, watching the arguments go on and on for hours and watching you passionately defend your choice— I knew you understood.”

“So you decided to fuck me?”

“I needed someone who understood. And you did.”

“Because I blocked the Avada spell.”

“Yes— no. Maybe. That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

Fred sat up straighter, eyes coming to focus in on hers. 

“We understood each other back then. We gave each other what we needed.”

“Gave,” she emphasized.

“Yes,” he said. “I see the way you and Malfoy interact with each other.”

Hermione flushed, remembering being pressed against a wall and needing to Glamour the love bites on her neck. “We don’t—“

“Hermione,” he began, throwing his hands up to stop her from continuing. “No offense, but this is actually so much less about you than you think.”

So she sat back against the trunk of the tree.

“You were an excuse. Someone who was just as lost and confused as I was and we came together in those moments and made something beautiful.” He paused. “But it was something that had an expiration date. We both know that. I just hadn’t realized until last night that it had come.”

“Fred Weasley, are you breaking up with me?”

He chuckled, placing his hands on the ground as he stood. He then reached one out to her. She accepted without hesitation. She looked out to see the sun was above the nearby hills, illuminating the landscape through the trees and letting the warmth flow through her body. The first snow would set in soon and Christmas was right around the corner, but for now she let herself bask in the sunshine. 

“I might not yet be ready for something more emotionally demanding than our sex before-we-might-die that we engaged in, but you are. And since that’s true, we no longer have an understanding. You’ve advanced too far past me.”

She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that she wasn’t ready and she hadn’t grown that far, but she thought of her future. How she viewed it now compared to how she thought of it back then. 

And she thought that maybe she wasn’t always the person who knew herself best. Maybe she should listen to those around her, for once. 

She wrapped her arms around Fred’s shoulders. 

“I’ll miss you.”

He hesitated before hugging her back tightly, her feet lifting off the ground slightly. 

“There’s no need. I’m right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:  
> I don't like Percy. I don't necessarily hate him or anything, but I think that he always thought he was better than his family and it caused him to end up on the wrong side of the war. I'm not for people like that, who are so out of touch with what's going on because they're so wrapped up in themselves and their own goals. So that's why he's not here, because despite figthing in the Battle of Hogwarts in the books, I think that if the war would have continued on he wouldn't have stayed with the Order.  
> If Hermione and Draco's kiss seems really spur of the moment, that's because it is. Did you really think these emotionally inept children would be able to properly plan a romantic gesture? He just went for it tbh. It caught me off guard as well.  
> The kiss scene almost didn’t happen in this chapter. If things worked out perfectly then it would have been several more chapters without any acknowledgement. But the truth is everything REALLY picks up plot wise after this chapter and if it didn’t happen now then it wouldn’t happen until chapter 27 (which I just wrote) and that’s so close to the end and I really did not want to be That Fic. Writing the kiss here opened up a lot more opportunities for me to add in more kisses and hot scenes in between as well.  
> The last scene with Hermione and Fred has me so soft. I love them SO much. Fred deserved better in canon and I plan to rectify that.


	22. Crucio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I moved this week which means I haven’t wrote in like five days... and for the past two weeks I’ve been writing at least 1k words a days so reading this was... weird. All my chapters have already been edited, so even though I didn’t like it when I read it through this time, I’m going to trust my past self that said this was good and assume I’m just exhausted rn and my writing doesn’t suck like I feel it does.   
> Also, please heed the tags and warnings for this chapter.

After the peace Hermione felt when returning from foraging, she should have known things couldn’t be so steady without  _ something  _ happening. 

The next week, while Pansy and Neville were patrolling a rumored Vampire club that Draco was having trouble confirming was an underground sex trafficking location, they came across a seriously injured Greengrass sister. Before completing their mission they had apparated back with her: a mistake. 

Daphne Greengrass was so deeply hurt that the force of the apparition caused her already deep injuries to open even more. When they arrived at the London safe house they sent out an immediate Patronus for assistance. 

Draco and Hermione were lounging on her bed, discussing the outcome of his most recent Death Eater meeting. They hadn’t had the time to talk about what had happened the night Draco was drunk. Despite that they hadn’t planned any attacks, the Order was quite busy and the Death Eaters even more so with the final battle plans. It was all coming to a close and everyone could feel it. 

Nagini was still alive. For a while Harry was convinced Voldemort had created another Horcrux, but after a recent stint where he was sucked into his mind, Harry was sure that was no longer the case. 

But things were different now than they had been at the Battle of Hogwarts. They couldn’t storm the castle with no plans set. Five years into a war meant they had to prepare properly. Things were going into overdrive as everyone wrapped up their last minute plans. 

They had more important things to discuss, and dynamics remained comfortable and easy between the two of them so Hermione wasn’t concerned about rushing the conversation. 

Hermione was laid back on her pillow, her feet propped up on Draco's lap as he leaned back against the wall her bed sat against. She was nearly asleep when it appeared. When the message had finished, they both jumped up and Draco immediately reached for Hermione’s elbow just moments before she apparated them away. 

When they arrived, Hermione’s bare feet slamming onto the cold wood, Daphne was on the ground with blood spurting from an injury by her ribs. 

Hermione only took a moment to assess Draco, watching as the color drained from his face before she fell into action. 

“Someone needs to call Ron and Seamus,” she said. 

The infirmary was full of injured bodies after the safehouse in Surrey had been attacked the day before. No one knew how it was found, only that the secret keeper had disappeared mysteriously and any of the inhabitants that weren’t dead were seriously injured. 

Morale was low. Hermione wasn’t sure how this development would assist in that. 

“No Finnegan,” Malfoy said. “Blaise can’t handle this right now.”

Hermione wanted to argue that Blaise needed to toughen the  _ fuck up _ , but there was no time. She merely nodded. 

Blood soaked her up to her elbows by the time Ron arrived, with Dean in tow. His arms were full of medical supplies, which he promptly dropped to the floor as he fell to his knees to assist. 

“I heard screaming in your Patronus,” he said, shooing Hermione out of the way as he cast a diagnostic over Daphne. 

“She’s lost too much blood,” Hermione replied. She was eerily still, her pale face covered by her dirt ridden hair. 

Ron and Dean worked silently. Hermione watched as Ron wandlessly sewed up her injuries, his brows drawn in focus. Dean worked on her lower half, pulling splinters out of her legs and healing superficial burns. She turned to Draco. 

“What happened to her?”

His face was pale, but his eyes were clear. She could feel how much effort he was putting into keeping his shields up. 

“I’m not sure. Daphne and Astoria aren’t around much. They’re not really apart of the Death Eater regime, more like—“

“Like what?” Pansy pushed, shoving out of Neville’s arms to face him head on. Pansy was no master at Occlumency, though she had worked hard to shield her mind in battle. No one was allowed on the field without at least the basics of Occlumency cemented in their minds. Right now she stood, hands shaking as she pushed her bangs out of her face. Her gaze was dry and focused. 

“Whores,” he said, looking Pansy in the eyes. “They come, entertain the younger Death Eaters and leave afterwards. We don’t get many chances to talk.”

“Daphne would never do that willingly,” Pansy said. 

“I never said it was willingly. That’s just how it has been.”

“How long?” Pansy pressed. 

“Pans, now isn’t—“

“How  _ long,  _ Draco.”

She wasn’t Pansy of the Order right now. Not Hermione’s friend, Pansy. She was Pureblood elitist Pansy Parkinson, demanding answers to questions she couldn’t handle. 

“Long enough that they don’t look me in the eye anymore.”

Pansy gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Of course not. It doesn’t mean I don’t see—“

“Draco,” Hermione scolded. “That’s enough.” She turned towards Ron. “How’s it looking?”

“We don’t have enough blood replenishing potion to spare for her.” Ron stood, disappearing the blood on the ground in a very mechanical manner. 

“We can’t just sit here and let her die,” Pansy protested. 

“There are people that have been dedicated to the Order for  _ years  _ that aren’t being afforded the potions they need. We aren’t wasting one on Daphne.”

His tone left no room for arguments. In the end, he was right. No matter how hard it was for Pansy to stand by and watch, she had to accept it. Daphne had made decisions which made further assistance impossible. 

So she sat by her side instead, holding her hand through the night and well into the next day, until Neville had to pry her fingers out of Daphne’s. 

“We’ve got responsibilities, Pans,” he whispered. “We have to go back out on patrol.”

Pansy merely nodded, sending a pleading gaze on Hermione, who had stayed by her side faithfully since her arrival. 

“I’ll watch over her,” she confirmed. 

So Hermione found herself sitting on the hardwood floor, back aching from the lack of cushion, when Daphne jerked awake. 

Hermione was so shocked that she didn’t move for a moment. 

They had been so sure that Daphne would meet a dim, silent end that they hadn’t bothered to restrain her or take her wand. 

Hermione lunged for it, thankful that Daphne seemed disoriented enough to not ask questions. 

She cast a Patronus and sent it to Draco. He arrived in less than thirty seconds. 

\---

“Since when have we become a hotel service for helpless Slytherins?” Ron bit out as he sewed up the gash in Hermione’s arm. 

Daphne, as it turned out, was less concerned with Draco’s betrayal or being in Order custody than she was about her sister. Apparently Astoria had been handled roughly by one of the Death Eaters she was with. Daphne, after hearing her cries of protests, burst into the room and tore a man off of her, punching him in the face and then running away with Astoria in tow. They didn’t make it far before they were caught and beaten again. Whoever it was must have heard Neville and Pansy’s arrival, because Daphne claimed they left in quite a hurry, dragging Astoria by her hair. 

She attempted to escape from the cabin and screamed in frustration when she was unable to get past the anti-apparition ward. She turned towards Draco and  _ begged  _ for his assistance in finding Astoria. 

And he agreed. Readily. He insisted he could do it alone, but Hermione fought him until he relented that she could join. Any time— especially time that might be spent battling or dueling— she was away from Draco put a spur in her heart. She didn’t like thinking about it. 

They came up with the least elaborate plan possible. Draco used his Death Eater standing to request Astoria’s company. When she arrived, bruised and terrified, he slipped her a location to arrive in five days' time. 

When she came, she had been tailed. Draco, who had transfigured his hair into a brown shade and altered some minor facial features, fought off two while Hermione covered his six and dueled the other three. 

In the end, they had made it back to the shack that Daphne still resided with minimal injuries. Draco had a bloodied nose and Hermione a large gash on her forearm, but those were from their perusal through the forest and  _ not  _ the duel. It was nothing that couldn’t be handled. 

“We help those in need, Ronald.” She grimaced against his rough movements, flinching as her skin magically sewed back together. 

He eyed her apologetically. “We’re all out of pain relief draught, I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t have accepted it anyways,” she said. 

She turned towards Draco. Dean had already fixed his broken nose and he was using a wet cloth to clean the blood off his face. 

“Does Astoria need medical attention?” she asked him. His hair was still the awful brown color. She tapped her wand to his head until he was back to the more familiar white blonde. Much better. 

She turned towards Astoria to find she was wrapped in her sister's arms. Both girls had fallen to their knees and sobs filled the room. 

“Leave her, for now. I think she’s getting all the healing she needs at the moment,” he said. 

“What do we do about them?”

“They didn’t fight with the Death Eaters. We could let them go, make an Unbreakable Vow and drop them off in hiding.”

“Where would they be safe? They don’t seem able to defend themselves if someone comes after them.”

“Then they’re no more likely to fight for the Order.” His eyes were trained on the sisters, tension lined his shoulders, but she could feel the relief flooding through him at the sight. 

“They don’t need to fight. We could offer them shelter.”

“In a safehouse that could very possibly be overrun by Death Eaters at any given moment?”

Hermione sighed. “Well what would you suppose we do?”

Draco hesitated. “Call for Pansy. We don’t need to make a decision straight away.”

\---

Over the next few days, Hermione found herself in a whirlwind of snarky female Slytherins. Despite her acceptance of Pansy, Daphne and Astoria were much more difficult to get along with. 

They weren’t like Theo or Pansy or Draco; they never saw the error of their ways. But they weren’t like Blaise either, because they weren’t driven towards prejudice because of the hurt in their hearts that made them easily manipulated. They were raised on it, and even though they’d never fought with the Death Eaters, it didn’t mean they didn’t agree with their cause. 

When the decision had been made to move the Greengrass sisters to a safehouse, they begged Pansy to join them. 

“I can’t,” Pansy said simply. 

“Pans, this isn’t our war to fight,” Daphne insisted. 

Pansy looked towards Hermione, who was standing a respectful distance away, giving the girls their room to say goodbye. She waved lightly at her and Pansy shot back a blazing smile. 

“It might not be yours, but it is mine.” 

She threw her arms around both girls, squeezing tightly before walking back and joining Hermione, engaging her in conversation about a new dueling formation Neville and her had been fiddling with. They looked bewildered, as if they didn’t recognize her. 

Hermione thought it was possible they might never have known Pansy. 

Draco had been summoned earlier, leaving Hermione with a quick squeeze of her hand and a reassuring smile. 

They were on the roof, walking away from the disapparition of the two sisters when Hermione felt a pang reverberate through her. 

Hermione grasped at her chest, stumbling and reaching out for anything that might hold her up. She managed to grab onto something, but faltered again as the pain doubled in intensity and both hands were suddenly bunching at her shirt, fumbling to unbutton it and release the burning inside. 

Behind her she heard shuffling, people calling out to her and trying to right her. She couldn’t respond, could only focus on the panic that caused her vision to go black at the edges. 

“Something’s wrong with Malfoy,” she managed to get out after Harry held her head in his hands, begging her to speak. 

She was sobbing now, on the floor and pressed tightly into Harry’s chest as she let out loud wails and broken gasps, clawing at the string in her chest that attached her to Draco— that was gnawing annoyingly just minutes ago— that had now turned into a full blown searing that made her think she could breathe fire. 

Harry continued to try and speak to her while everyone stood watching. She couldn’t listen— could hardly think over the primal urge that surged through her telling her she needed to go save Draco  _ now  _ or it would be too late. 

She was on her feet in an instant, legs jelly beneath her, but steady enough. They had to be. She needed to reach him in time. 

Harry grabbed her and before she could blink she was pressed against the wall, face digging into the rough concrete and hands between her shoulder blades. She let out a scream of frustration. 

“He’s dying,” she cried out. “Please, I can save him.”

But the hands on her back merely pressed into her harder, and she knew that she couldn’t take six bound partners and make it to Draco in time. 

She screamed and fought, chest arching against the wall, feet kicking wildly, hands reaching to scratch the arms of the person that restrained her. 

Her chest ached so deeply she thought she was dying too. The roaring in her head was so loud she could only hear Draco’s screams. She knew they were his; she didn’t have to be there. They echoed in her head, bouncing around and hitting every corner until her skull felt ready to explode and her mind melted with the sound she knew she could never unhear. 

Somehow, she was on the floor. Her knees were pulled to her chest and she eyed the blood running on the pavement below her. 

Her blood, she realized. She pressed a shaking hand to her head. It was soaked. She didn’t care; wanted to hit it again so that maybe she could forget this entire awful feeling. 

Another wave of pain hit her, and this time it was all encompassing. Her veins felt like they were shriveling, as if all the blood was being sucked out of her. More painful than a vampire bite, this she knew from experience. 

Her insides twisted and she could feel her bones scraping against one another with every move she made. She tried to remain still but the pain was too much and she was thrashing helplessly on the ground. 

“Save him,” she broke out in between screams, as this round of pain faded. “Please, someone help him. They’re torturing him.” 

“Hermione, I’m sorry.” Through her hazy eyes she could see Harry’s messy hair. He was crying. His hands were on her shoulders, pressing her into the ground. 

She laid there for a few minutes with her eyes closed, waiting for the next line of pain to scream up her spine. Her eyes shot open as the burning in her chest turned to a pleasant thrum. 

She shot up, running to the spot she knew he’d apparate to—

And collapsed as the heap on the floor appeared. 

Draco was covered in blood— positively soaked in it. He wasn’t moving, not even a rise of his chest could be detected from her angle. She threw her head against his sternum and let out a choked sob as she heard the first rattled breath. She jumped into healer mode straight away. 

“I need blood replenishing potions. And several pain potions. We need to check his injuries and see if there’s any type of poison in his system. We need antidotes. 

She cast a diagnostic, eyeing it carefully as she looked within at her bind. The string connecting the two of them hummed happily, as if completely oblivious to what had just happened. She shook her head and turned back to Malfoy. 

“Just the potions actually,” she threw over her shoulder. 

Pansy eyed her nervously. “Are you sure?”

Hermione clenched her jaw so tight her teeth clicked. 

“Sorry, but not everyone has been as lucky as you and Neville.” She turned head on to face her, trying to mask her fear with anger. Her shields had crumbled. “But my bound partner and I have experienced enough injuries that we are more reliable about each other's health than even the most  _ specific  _ diagnostic could be.”

Pansy didn’t respond, but the pity in her eyes made Hermione’s fists clench. 

“What’s happened to him?”

It was Harry who answered. “Cruciatus curse.”

Hermione turned to him. He was levitating Draco’s body and preparing to carry it down the stairs to the infirmary. Hermione stood on shaky legs and made to follow him. The thought of being separated from Draco sent a ripple of pain through her almost as extreme as what she had just experienced a few moments before. She wanted to snap at Harry, but managed to hold back. 

“Why would you say that? I think I’ve been crucio’d enough to know what it feels like.”

“It wasn’t cast on you, Hermione,” he said. 

“So?”

“So,” he began as they turned a corner, “that means it wouldn’t feel the same as you’re used to. The Cruciatus curse is meant to be the most severe torture spell out there. That means it adheres to each specific person’s view of what is most painful.”

“Then what makes you say it was the Cruciatus?”

“Because no matter how it felt to you, all torture by wand looks the same.” He turned to her, emerald eyes alight with the horror he so rarely let shine through. “It’s always you, on the ground writhing around like you won’t get up this time.”

“I always get up,” she breathed, her thoughts turning to someone else besides Draco for the first time since she’d hit the ground.

“You get up until the one time you don’t. I’ll never know when that is until it happens.”

The words were so haunted; so honest and raw that Hermione thought she was talking with Draco for a moment. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t know what was going on; he wasn’t ignorant. But he spent so much time trying not to drown in the negativity and pressure of being the Chosen One that he didn’t talk about it. It was all subtext with Harry; they participated in coded conversation more often than not. 

They had made it to the infirmary then, Draco landing softly into a bed, blood instantly soaking through the white sheets. Hermione ran forward and gripped his hand. 

Ron was at her side in a moment and she breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t know many Healers well and Seamus and Blaise were at the new Surrey safehouse location trying to get a makeshift infirmary up and running. Even though Ron wasn’t an expert, she desperately needed someone she trusted by her side to take care of Draco. 

“His nerves are a mess. Bloody hell, what happened to him?”

“Your professionalism is outstanding, truly,” Harry scolded him.

“Cruciatus,” Hermione said without hesitation, because Harry was right. 

She’d read about it, of course. You had to mean Unforgivables, which not only meant that they could hit you with a wavering intensity, but it  _ also  _ meant that each person would feel the curses differently. 

For Hermione, it was all in her head. Her mind would explode before she ever felt it bother her other extremities. The pressure would build so tightly that she would thrash around, and a lot of the times it caused hallucinations and visions of horrid images that she could never quite remember when she was lucid. It was if the pain stemmed from her brain and traveled downwards. It was a mind game. 

Draco’s Cruciatus was a full body experience. She could feel it from the hair in her head to the tips of her toes. The whole time her nerves were alight with indescribable pain that made her toes curl to even think about. Her fingers ached, her heart was still stuttering and the blood from her head injury was now creating a steady puddle on the ground. 

She didn’t care about any of it, because if that was what she felt and she was still standing… she looked over at Draco, who was unconscious and bruised. 

“Looks like he was beat muggle style as well.” Ron turned toward her. “Do you know  _ why  _ this happened?”

Dread flooded through Hermione like ice water, freezing her frayed nerves in a way that made her jaw clenched until it cracked.

He was being punished, she realized. There was no other explanation for it. 

“Tom,” she whispered. “Something has happened. He— he knows or he  _ thinks  _ he knows—“

“Mione, calm down.” Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and forced her into a chair. The world was spinning around her and being put in the seat, she was thrown back to the time her parents had surprised her with tickets to Disney World, the feeling reminiscent of the TeaCup ride. She was swirling and twirling around until it was too much. 

Except back then the ride had stopped. Now it just seemed as if she were going faster, first clockwise and then counterclockwise. The world was starting to dim. 

“She’s going into shock.”

“We need a blood replenishing potion. Harry, fetch one from the cabinet.”

She could hear the voices and could recognize them as her friends, but horror had struck her at her very core. Her vision was blurred and everything continued to curl around her in tight cues, like Van Gogh’s Starry Night. 

She felt something pressed to her lips and she tried to spit it out. 

_ Poison,  _ her mind said.  _ Draco’s not safe. They’re trying to kill Draco through me. They want Draco dead.  _ Everyone  _ wants Draco dead.  _

She closed her lips and thrashed against the hands that held her down until she felt herself magically bound to the chair. Still, she fought, throwing her head in between her knees so they couldn’t force anything past her mouth. 

She felt a pinching sensation at her inner arm and she screamed, not at the pain but because her own ideas and innovations had been used against her. 

_ She  _ was the one that had come up with the idea of making potions injectable through the bloodstream for quicker effect. 

She lifted her head and spit, not knowing at who or even if her target hit, but just feeling a wild anger and terror clawing its way up her throat and she needed to do  _ something  _ to quell it. 

When the needle was withdrawn out of her she slackened, immediately feeling the world go dark. She kicked out one last time, making contact with something warm and fleshy before the swirled colors around her were gone. 

\---

When Hermione awoke, she was in a bed pressed up against a warm body. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that it was Draco, or to know that his steady heartbeat beneath her ear was a vast improvement on the state he had been in last. 

She sat up quickly, reaching a hand out to him— that he immediately grabbed— to right herself. She reached over to see his silver eyes set upon her. 

“You look awful,” he commented. 

“Are you okay?” 

It might not have been the most important question, but it was the most relevant. And though she could feel his life force through their bind she needed to hear it. 

“I’m alive and I’m with you.”

She threw her arms around him, not caring when he flinched and sinking into his chest further when he wrapped his arms around her waist. 

As if someone had hit a button— it occurred to Hermione, as she eyed the nurses watching them suspiciously, that it might just be the case— a group came hurrying in the doors. 

Pansy was at the front, followed by Harry, Ginny, Theo and Ron— their bound partners just a few feet behind, offering a small shield of privacy. 

Pansy was running and Hermione found it funny that she’d ever thought of Pansy as heartless when the woman in front of her— tear stained and smiling and just so clearly a whirlwind of emotions— wore her heart so freely. 

She threw her arms around the pair when she arrived at the bed. The force was so strong Hermione was knocked against the pillows. When the others arrived, Pansy didn’t let go, just shoved Hermione over and joined them in bed. 

“Pans, this bed is hardly made for two people, never mind three.”

“Draco, when this war is over and everyone is done with their dramatic almost dying, you can lecture me about proper bedsharing.”

“What’s happened?” Theo demanded. 

Hermione flinched. Theo wasn’t supposed to check in today. He had been spending the past few weeks with a pack of werewolves undercover and had gained a lot of useful information. Currently he was in the process of convincing Moody to let him attempt and switch the werewolf allegiance. Moody told him it was a death sentence, to which Theo’d replied it was worth dying for. It was the first time Hermione had seen the senior auror speechless.

Ginny must have summoned him back after today’s incident. He was always on edge just before the transition, but now it seemed he was always nervous— shifting eyes and more animalistic movements. She couldn’t imagine how this disaster had added to it. 

“Nice to see you too, Theodore.”

“Cut the act, Draco. You were tortured and the Order needs to know why.”

Theo’s defenses were up. He wasn’t— couldn’t demand to know for his own peace of mind. He needed a shield to hide behind— some emotional distance to put between himself and his injured best friend. 

Malfoy sighed. “Take a seat. It’s a long story.”

Harry waved his wand and summoned chairs for everyone. They all sat and waited intently. 

“Back when the first raid after mine and Hermione’s binding was completed— the one where you found the Dark Lord’s jewelry box?” The group nodded in understanding. Draco reached out and grabbed Hermione’s hand. She squeezed in support. “I told you there would be retribution on his side. And there was— on everyone but me.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Theo gripped the arm of his wooden chair so tightly it cracked. 

“I waited. I prepared properly and waited for the punishment that I knew would come. But it didn’t. And then Theo was bitten and I had nearly forgotten about it.”

“Until?” Pansy prompted.

“Yesterday I was summoned. I assumed it was for a meeting but when I arrived it was only the Dark Lord and— and a muggleborn.”

Hermione’s breath caught. She leaned away from Draco on instinct, but fought against the urge and nodded him on. 

Draco was pale and Hermione could tell he hadn’t built up his strength to properly build his shields against what he had witnessed— what he had done. 

“The Dark Lord greeted me and started praising me, talking about my successes and potential. Somehow the raid came up. He claimed this was a muggleborn that had witnessed the scene— an impossible statement because I know the members of the Order, but  _ no one  _ argues with the Dark Lord.

“He said she needed to be punished. A crucio would suffice.”

Hermione could feel his dread and apprehension. 

She had heard so little about the atrocities Draco had committed. She could assume, but hearing him describe them would make it unavoidable. She would know. She would always be reminded. 

“It’s— it’s not something I’ve done often. But it is something I’ve done. Torture of muggle and muggleborns is practically part of the Dark Lord’s everyday routine.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “So I raised my wand, because I needed to prove my loyalty. Not just to save myself but to keep my cover as an Order spy. More than just my life was on the line and I knew he wouldn’t kill her if I could go through with it. I would go to the dungeons myself and Obliviate her and free her.”

Words were pretty, Hermione thought. Actions meant more. Draco’s actions for the Order have been commendable, but what had he been doing while with the other side?

“But when I raised my wand and cast the  _ crucio,  _ nothing came out. My wand fizzled, a mere spark that died just a few inches in front of me.” 

Hermione sucked in a breath. The rest of the room stayed silent, all eyes trained on Draco. 

“I tried again, and then there wasn’t even a spark. Another attempt and it sounded weak to even my own ears. You— you have to mean Unforgivables and—“ he glanced at Hermione. “I couldn’t do it.”

Hermione was caught between relief and horror. Relief because he had  _ changed.  _ This was proof and she didn’t know how desperately she had been searching for it before this exact moment. 

But the panic and fright that washed through her almost immediately after we’re all encompassing. Draco had almost  _ died.  _ He had risked his position as Order spy. Voldemort would be suspicious now, if he wasn’t already. 

“The hate was stronger than I’ve ever felt. I don’t know how he  _ knew _ ; how he could have realized. I managed to convince him I was fucking a muggleborn prostitute on the side, thanks to some quickly put together Occlumency memories mixed with some emotions and conversations with Granger, but he’ll figure it out eventually. He doesn’t realize I’m an Occlumens, but his suspicions will overrule any logic very soon. He’s going to figure it out. At the very least he’ll try things like this again.”

He looked towards Hermione, grey eyes wide and pleading. “I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. She had brown eyes and cotton pants.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what pretenses he was apologizing for anymore. 

He ran his fingers through his hair and Hermione stared at him with paralyzing confusion. She wasn’t sure how she should feel. She was torn in so many different directions. 

“I’m sorry that I ever thought it was okay to do this— for myself or others. You were right when you said it back then, I should have never put myself in this situation in the first place. If it weren’t for my own bigoted views—“

Hermione punched him in the arm, hard. Draco flinched away. 

“Your job,” she bit out between clenched teeth, “is to stay undercover and gather intel for the Order at all costs, on top of staying alive and fighting with the Order in the final battle.”

Draco’s brow crinkled. The others in the room had gone ramrod still. 

“Are you saying—“

“You have to deal with the ramifications of the decisions you made. If the so called Dark Lord asks you to do something and you can’t find a way out of it, you have to  _ find  _ a way to mean it.”

“Granger, you can’t possibly be serious.”

“I have to be!” She stood up, pulling at the hem of her leggings. “Draco, without you the Order is not complete.  _ I  _ am not complete.” She let out a shattering breath. “We need you. You need to be able to complete all your tasks as you’re asked.”

“And how do you suggest I torture someone when I’ve not the faintest interest in doing so?”

“You have to warp your mind into believing it’s the best option,” she began. “You said you think you could have released her?”

Draco nodded. 

“The curse is all about intent. It doesn’t have to be malicious in its delivery, though it normally is. So then you  _ mean  _ the curse because it would have saved her life down the road. ” Hermione caught his glance. “Her and her brown eyes and cotton pants.”

“That’s— that’s so twisted, Hermione.” Harry sounded impressed. It made her stomach clench. 

“This is war. This is what we’ve become. It’s awful and horrible but we can’t think about that now. We just have to do it. We have to do whatever it takes to win because if we don’t then there will be no chance for muggleborns of the future.” She turned to Draco. “Is she dead?”

He shook his head, fingering the blanket that was tucked under him. “But I don’t think I could get her out without arousing suspicion.”

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. “Alright then, time for a rescue mission then.”

“Mione no—“ 

“You’re barmy.”

“Hermione please—“

Hermione shot her hand up to stop the bombardment of voices. She had a plan. A plan that no one would like but one that  _ needed  _ to be implemented. It was her fault this girl wasn’t saved, her fault Malfoy couldn’t follow through on his job. 

She would save her. She would save every muggleborn she could. 

“Just listen will you?” She waited for silence. “I’m not suggesting we break into Malfoy Manor and grab her from under Tom’s nose.”

“Then what  _ are  _ you suggesting?” asked Ron. 

Hermione smiled, real and genuine because  _ this  _ was her domain no one else could claim. 

“That I get captured by Death Eaters and take her with me when I escape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my personal head canon that unforgiveables only taint your soul as much as you let them, which is how I came up with the idea that you could use the Cruciatus without necessarily wanting to hurt someone. Like, if the option was either torture this person or they die, I think they could work up the gall to let the crucio fly to save their life in the end.  
> I really really like the idea that each person’s crucio would be different. Like a personalized torture. Everyone feels pain differently and everyone has certain things that are more painful than others. So why would the “worst torture curse” be the exact same for everyone?   
> Also, as Captain of the Redeem All Slytherin Characters Team, I’d just like to say that while Daphne and Astoria will not be reappearing in my story, it’s mostly because my character list is already so giant and I’m fumbling with it enough, than because I don’t think they deserve redemption. They do. And in future stories I write I’ll make sure they get it. But for this one, it’s just gonna have to be enough that they’re safe.  
> Also a lot of you have expressed fear for Theo’s character. Theo is baby. I will not let any death come his way.   
> Pansy is my bitch. I could write an entire novel on her character development from her Hogwarts days up until now. I always intended for it to be that way, but I never expected to feel such passion when I write her. She deserves her own story, tbh.  
> Writing is weird right now.. even these notes, so I’m sorry if this chapter is weird and disjointed. But I really enjoyed it when I reviewed it a few days ago. Hopefully I’m just being odd right now.


	23. Bad Kidnapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this rollercoaster of a chapter.  
> 

After an uproarious argument had broken out— headed by Draco, who was too weak to get out of bed properly but not too knackered to place a sticking charm on Hermione— she was irritated and short tempered. 

“Draco, release this right now!”

“Not until you stop talking crazy and reckless,” he insisted. His brow had broken out into a sweat and his eyes were fever bright. Hermione could feel his instability through their bind, both mental and physical. Draco was bound to break if he didn’t allow himself a chance to cool down. Maybe she should have placed the sticking charm on him. 

“I’m not talking crazy, Malfoy. I have it all planned out.”

And she did. It didn’t mean that her plan wasn’t met with a chorus of objections or pleas for her to reconsider. 

None of that mattered. Maybe in a way that she wasn’t able to accept yet, brought to her in the form of Draco’s desperation and Harry’s sad eyes that made her feel rotten and selfish. They weren’t wrong— Hermione  _ was  _ putting her life at risk for someone she didn’t know. Perhaps it was a bit dangerous, but she balked at the word reckless. Being reckless assumed it was poorly thought out and not well executed. 

Hermione Granger fell into neither of those categories. 

When she had snatched her wand out of Draco’s hand and unstuck herself, she pushed past the angry mob surrounding his bed and stormed straight to the War Room. Moody would be there. He always was. 

“Moody,” she began, but he waved her off, eyes not lifting from the parchment he was reading. 

“It’s approved already, Granger.”

“How’d you know?” It was a silly question, of course. Moody always knew. Eyes in the back of his head and all that. 

“I’ll want to hear the final plan before you make any moves.”

“Of course,” she confirmed. 

“And you’ll be sure to gather any intel you can while you’re gone.”

“As always.”

Moody lifted his eyes. Hermione wasn’t leaving. “Well?”

“You said you wanted to hear the plan?”

Moody leant back and gestured to the chair on the other side of the table. 

\---

“Mione.”

Hermione looked up from her vanity where she was applying lipstick and met Ron’s eyes in the mirror. 

“Ronald,” she greeted, turning back to complete her makeup. “Are you the last stitch effort to try and talk me out of this?”

Ron shrugged. “Something like that. I wanted to come anyway.” He moved to sit on her bed. Hermione ran a brush through her hair. 

“Ron, what is it? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah of course. Just with you going off like this it reminded me that I don’t get to see you much anymore.”

“Things are crazy these days. I don’t take it personally.”

“Right, no of course not. I just wished I would have made an effort earlier on.” His eyes were averted, hands crossed over his chest. 

Hermione dropped the tendrils of hair she was wrapping using bobby pins and turned to look at him. 

He looked so giant, sitting on her small bed in her narrow room. Ron never looked small, he was too tall and his presence too large. Not in the same ways as Draco’s— arrogant and demanding— but with his own style. Friendly, warm and loving. Ron was approachable despite his size while Draco was left best standing in a corner, leant against a wall and glaring at anyone that glanced his way. 

“Nothing’s going to happen to me tonight, Ron.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he snapped, tone sharper than she’d heard in ages. The war had dulled Ron’s rage. He was levelheaded, approaching life and death situations with ease and professionalism. In that way, Hermione supposed war suited him. 

“Ron?”

“You can’t promise me things like that when you don’t know. You can’t say you’ll come back because one day you’ll say it and I’ll believe you and then you’ll die and I won't ever be able to properly grieve you because I’ll be so busy dealing with my anger and inability to forgive you.”

Hermione sucked in her breath. 

“So just let me sit here and be upset that I’ve taken you for granted these past few years, okay?”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but a different man with red hair appeared in her mind and the guilt was too great. So she turned back around and continued to try and dress her hair so that it was practical and alluring. The mission would call for both aspects. 

Malfoy appeared at her door then. His eyes landed on Ron, and while his spine straightened he said nothing. 

“Granger,” he said, eyes still on Ron. “I’ve come to make my last reminders that I will not be able to save you if you get in too deep. I’ve been given direct orders from Moody to keep at my post no matter what.”

“Charming. It’s a good thing I’ve never counted on anyone to rescue me in the past.”

Malfoy turned to her, and the moment she saw his eyes—steely grey and void of emotion— her stomach twisted in foreboding. 

"Got any last words for Weasley? Any confessions?”

_ Oh no.  _

“Ron and I were just having a friendly chat before I left.” She glanced at her watch. “And would you look at the time. I think I should—“

Fred appeared beside Malfoy then. 

_ Oh Godric, please let Malfoy have a bigger heart than this. _

“Hermione, you called for me?”

Hermione began shaking her head, but Draco spoke over her, coming into the room and taking the seat she’d just been in. He nudged her towards the center. 

“Yes, she did. Or, I did rather, but what’s it matter in these days and times when we’re all connected so closely? Me and Granger by our bind, Ron and you by your brotherhood and Ron and Granger by you.”

Ron’s brow furrowed in confusion. Fred took a staggering step back before catching himself on the doorframe. 

“What—"

“Ronald, Fred I’m sorry for the confusion, but I really should be heading out.”

Her tone was wrong. Too rushed and her anxiety had seeped through. Ron didn’t move, merely stared up at her with those blue eyes that remained innocent despite all the travesties they’d seen. 

“Hermione, what’s Malfoy talking about?”

Silence. No one was going to speak. Malfoy had retreated even deeper into the room so that she couldn’t even glare at him. Fred’s eyes were pasted on the ground.

“How are you two connected?” he tried again and Hermione’s heart broke because he was the only one trying to continue the conversation and it was a flashback to the past five years. Ron was always trying. Trying to comfort Hermione after the horrors of war had settled upon her, sinking deep into her bones until she couldn’t hear the creak in them without being reminded why she ached so much. Trying to cheer her up and keep a smile on her face, birthday after birthday even though there was no time to celebrate on the anniversary of the Surrey safehouse explosion. 

_ Trying, trying, trying.  _ But Hermione had always held back. She had always relied on him without providing the same support back. 

“I slept with Fred,” she said, voice clear and tone strong because she didn’t think she’d be able to repeat it. She couldn’t watch his face so she did the next worst thing and looked at Fred, who had now sunk to the floor, knees pulled to his chest in a childlike manner. 

“I don’t…” Ron’s voice cut through the silence after a moment, confusion slashing through any walls Hermione had managed to construct because  _ of course  _ he wouldn’t believe it right away. He always saw the best in Hermione even though she had never given him reason to.

She raised her eyes then. He wasn’t smiling, but his lips were raised slightly as if he was waiting for the punchline. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, voice weak as if she had used all her strength to admit the secret she’d been hiding for years. Fred remained silent and unmoving. 

“I… I don’t know what to say. I thought it was me and you Mione.”

Hermione let a small noise slip through before she breathed it back in. “It was, Ronald. Back then, it was. But I can’t… not anymore.”

“Right. Well, it might have been easier to tell me that as opposed to sleep with my brother.”

“That’s not why we did it.” Fred rose from the floor suddenly, appearing at Hermione’s side. 

“Then why’d you do it?” Ron’s voice was booming now and Hermione could feel feet skittering down the hall to see the commotion. 

Fred opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Hermione thought back to the conversation they’d had just a few weeks ago, foraging while the rising sun washed away their problems, for just a moment. 

“ _ We understood each other back then. We gave each other what we needed _ .”

But how could they explain that to Ron? The words were too laced with emotion. Hermione didn’t want to repeat them now and taint them with this bad memory. She wanted to keep them locked away in the same place she kept those confusing, wonderful nights with Fred. 

So she didn’t answer. And Fred didn’t either. She had a feeling he looked back with joy on their morning spent foraging as well. He’d seemed lighter since then, like he had one less thing to worry about. 

Ron didn’t wait long for a reply. He shouldered past both of them roughly and stormed out of the door. The crowd that had formed at her door quickly cleared a path for him. 

She turned towards Fred. He was shocked; the anger and pain written plainly across his face. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. Because she was. She’d never wanted this to happen. None of it. Maybe she should have stopped it back before it started. 

“Please don’t.” She looked up to see a sad smile spreading across his face. “I don’t regret what we did and I thought you didn’t, either.”

“I didn’t,” she said. 

“So then don’t start just because Ron’s found out.”

She nodded. He leant in, maybe to hug her but then he seemed to think better of it. He gave her a polite nod before turning to Draco, who stood sat in the far corner. 

“Hey Malfoy,” Fred held up both middle fingers to him. “Get fucked.”

She turned to Malfoy and looked right into his eyes. They were so cold after Ron’s. Like grey storm clouds coming in to ruin a perfectly blue sky. They weren’t at all like she remembered in her mind. 

“Is this your flimsy attempt to get me to drop my mission?”

“Shouldn’t you go after one of your boys?” he countered. 

She froze, because  _ yes, of course  _ she should go find Ron and explain everything. 

But she forced her feet to stay in place. She mechanically swiveled her hips to the vanity counter and hunched over until she could see her face in the mirror. She was pale, but her eyes held none of the pain she was feeling. They were dry with the tears she knew she’d never cry if she didn’t give herself the opportunity now. She blinked twice before turning away and grabbing the posh purse that cost more than an entry position at the ministry paid in a year. 

It was Daphne Greengrasses. Her eyes turned to the polyjuice potion that laid just beside it. 

She glared at Malfoy while she downed the contents. 

“Get fucked,” she seethed before walking out of the room. 

\---

_ One week earlier _

“I really think you should reconsider this,” Pansy said as they climbed the footpath to the Essex safehouse. 

The place needed a supply drop and Pansy was itching to visit the Greengrass sisters anyways. Hermione was here for her own reasons. 

“I can’t leave that girl to suffer, Pansy.”

“It’s one person,” Pansy reasoned. “And as much as I hate to say it, Hermione, we need you much more than we need her.”

Pansy had come so far. But in the end, she wasn’t a muggleborn. She could never fully understand. 

“We don’t exchange lives.”

“Then why are you giving up yours for her?”

“I’m not.”

Pansy grabbed her by the upper arm and jerked her around roughly, until they were facing each other on the sidewalk. 

“Risking it, at least.” Her voice was eerily calm and Hermione had a feeling that if she continued to disagree and feign ignorance then they would break out into a screaming match. 

Hermione shrugged. “I’m doing what has to be done.” She looked at Pansy. Brave, confident Pansy with her eyes so full of hurt that Hermione could feel it transfer through her searing touch. 

“I’m going to do this, Pansy. With or without the support of any other Order members.” Hermione placed her hand over Pansy’s. “But I could really use someone on my side.”

Pansy glanced down, a sad smile pulling at her lips, as if she was in a different time. They stood there for a while, wallowing in the words they couldn’t find it in themselves to say out loud. 

“All right then.” She sniffed lightly, but her eyes were void of tears. “Let’s get going then, shall we? I’ll do the talking.”

Daphne was surprisingly willing to hand over a few items of clothing as well as a strand of hair without much convincing.

“You did save me, Granger. Consider this repayment.”

She was as Slytherin as ever. But Hermione would accept anyways. It seemed like a fair trade.

\---

When she reached the roof she could feel the first dregs of the Polyjuice Potion working its way through her system. She watched as her curls transformed into straight blonde hair so sleek it immediately slipped from the pins that had held Hermione’s wild mane in place.

“Fuck’s sake,” she muttered, reaching up to readjust them. 

She was frustrated, and this wasn’t how she planned to enter into this mission. She’d wanted a steady mind, properly Occluded and prepared for the worst of invasions. Instead all she could think about was Ron’s sad eyes and the pangs of Draco’s betrayal.

She had trusted him. When they had sat on her bed talking about Fred, she had felt herself unwind a bit, as if telling him could relieve her of a bit of the burden she’d been carrying.

It had been  _ good,  _ a moment of pure and honesty in a world where you could never take anything at face value. She had needed it so bad. For a while it felt like Draco was always there to give her what she needed. 

She was so, so mad at him. Maybe even irrationally so. Her bind begged her to remain level headed. It tried to drag her back down the stairs to where he was pacing in his room, alone. 

_ He’s scared and was trying to stop you from this,  _ it reasoned. The voice was so calm and soothing it nearly convinced her. She had turned back towards the door before she even realized what was going on.

_ Bollocks.  _ The load of it. She didn’t have time to deal with it now.

She apparated away.

\---

The plan was straightforward, though no one would call it easy by any means.

She was to imitate Daphne and entertain some Death Eaters. The sisters often disappeared for weeks at a time and no one would bat an eye at one of them turning up at the Vampire Club, looking to give away companionship.

She would let the polyjuice wear off while she was snogging whoever was interested. She would feign panic, they would capture her and send her to the Manor Dungeons.

This was where things became a bit more complicated. No one liked the idea of Hermione’s capture, least of all Draco.

“You’ll put my life, and therefore my position as an Order spy at risk if you fail.” It wasn’t the real reason he objected— Draco could care less about his own life, no matter what he tried to convince everyone else of. Hermione’s on the other hand. He would do anything to stop her from this. It was a fact she accepted with irrational ease, considering where they were just half a year ago. Now December was here and with the impending winter brought a gust of new feelings and experiences. 

“I’ll not fail, then,” she had replied. She really wasn’t trying to open this up for a discussion. She just knew informing him was the best option.

And she wouldn’t fail. With her head slammed against the tabletop the Death Eater had just had her propped up on and her arms tied at the small of her back, Draco and his position in the Order were buried so deep in the ocean of her mind that she’d need to take a submarine to recover them.

She shook and cried out, putting on the act of a lifetime. The Death Eater laughed cruelly and slapped her ass hard enough to piston her hips into the table. She feigned a sob.

They were idiots. The lot of them. How many times did she need to escape their clutches for them to realize she needed more than a drunken binding spell to keep her at bay? 

She pretended to struggle against the ropes. Her wrists slid through the loose knots.

Honestly. This was the best they could come up with?

“What’s a matter, pet? I won’t take you, not ‘til the Dark Lord tells me ‘sokay.” His words were heavily slurred. He probably couldn’t even get hard after all the alcohol he’d ingested but he was still  _ bragging.  _ Godric, maybe Draco wasn’t as arrogant as he should be. 

He grabbed her by the hair and apparated with a force that had Hermione’s temples throbbing. She watched him stagger forward, leaning heavily on her. 

She  _ was  _ the prisoner right? If he didn’t get his act together then Voldemort wouldn’t buy her capture for even a moment.

But he seemed to have the same train of thought, because the moment she entered through the front doors a potion was thrust in front of him. She smelled the undertones of mint.

Sober Up potion. Her shoulders dropped slightly in relief. She might just make it past her next trial in one piece.

Apparently the news of her arrival had spread to the far corners of whatever dingy hideouts the Death Eaters took to when Voldemort wasn’t ordering them around, because a small crowd had formed by the time Hermione entered the dining room. She glanced up at the chandelier; still the same, beautiful and terrifying all wrapped up into one. Much like Bellatrix herself. In the dim lighting that day you couldn’t see her yellowing teeth or decaying nail beds. It was all wild curls and a face that, when not distorted with a scowl, was quite beautiful. She just wished her glee hadn’t been directed at the torture she was inflicting on Hermione. 

She was thrown to her knees at the front, right before a mighty chair that was decorated with enchanted snakes. The marbled serpents slithered carefree across the back and arms of the chair.

Upon it sat Voldemort. It had been a while since she’d seen him, six months or so. But they hadn’t destroyed Nagini in that time period and he didn’t look any worse off. She scowled at the thought.

“Miss Granger, how delighted I was to hear about your presence.”

“Tom, hello,” she greeted politely. She had a weak and scared and shaken appearance to upkeep, but she was still a Gryffindor. They didn’t balk at the chance to call Voldemort by his first name. “Trust you’ve been well?”

He flicked his wand once and Hermione felt a slit just above her left eyebrow open. Blood seeped into her lashes. She didn’t flinch.

Voldemort turned to his right, lifting his head slightly to speak to the person behind him.

Bellatrix. 

Hermione let a swig of fear seep through her Occlumency walls. It would help plead her case.

“Fetch Draco,” he said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished writing the battle chapter which was very emotionally draining and I hate writing battles so I was really putting it off. Now all I have left is one post battle chapter plus one (or two) epilogue chapters. I'm really tempted to just?? publish all the chapters because why not??  
> I plan on writing at least part of chapter 29 (post battle chapter) tonight. I really think I could have this entire story published by the Sunday update.  
> Is that dumb? Would you guys like that? Let me know please bc these next chapters are INTENSE and if you read them one at a time I really think you'll really hate me.  
> Oh, and don't hate Draco for being stupid. In his desperation he RLLY thought he could convince hermione to ditch her mission to run after Ron. He would have tried anything tbh.  
> Moody will do anything to have a spy on the inside and he knwos Hermione won't let any secrets get out, and he highly doubts she'll die. He's like hyfr go for it. Get some insider info from the prisoners while you're at it.


	24. Captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished the Epilogue of NQDM and I'm emotional. That means FUCK IT, I'm publishing all the chapters now. I'm going through and editing them one by one, so it might be like a half hour or so between each publication.  
> Heed your tags. This one is graphic boys and girls.

Hermione listened as Bellatrix’s footsteps echoed in the silent room. It was mostly empty, with just the throne-like chair placed at the very end of the room, right by the fireplace, which despite the cold atmosphere, remained barren and dark. She wondered if it was still connected to the floo line. It would make for a quick escape if she was desperate enough. 

The rest of the crowd stood just on the other side of the double doors, peering in quietly. Not even a whisper could be heard. She arched her head around. There had to be at least fifty of them. And they all knew what was coming, what Voldemort planned to do with her. It was vulgar. She knew the crudeness of the Death Eaters better than most, but to see so many of them all gathered in one spot, on edge and eager to see her fate… her stomach twisted and she bit back the wave of nausea.

Voldemort did not take his eyes off her, therefore she made no move either. Her gaze swept across the room but she stayed in place, spine straight and nose in the air. If it was a pissing contest he was after, she had no issue delivering. And winning. She would always win.

She heard the echo of sets of footsteps not long afterwards. Several people. 

She had Occluded so expertly that she’d nearly forgotten Draco’s importance in her life. For a moment, he was just another Death Eater ready to spit on her and call her names. She still knew of him, of course. She was aware of his importance in the Death Eater rankings, but she felt absolutely no emotions towards this. When his blonde head appeared in front of her, her breath nearly caught. 

Their bind thrummed to life. She wasn’t afraid; she was confident in her abilities and her plan. But Draco’s terror was paralyzing in the slow, icy way it traveled from him to her, starting in her numb fingertips, still tied clumsily behind her back, and working its way up to her heart, where it settled and began speeding up the careful rhythm she had worked expertly to keep. She closed her eyes and focused on steadying it, on blocking Draco out.

It all had happened so quickly that Hermione didn’t realize that he hadn’t even cast a single glance at her. She opened them again to see him standing in front of her, Bellatrix flanking one side and Narcissa Malfoy on the other. Hermione hadn’t seen her since the Battle of Hogwarts. Her hair looked the same, the way she held herself still screamed aristocracy and she gave off an air of arrogance that reminded Hermione all too much of Draco. 

She didn’t miss the trembling in her shoulders, though. So subtle that anyone who didn’t know to look for it wouldn’t be able to find it. She stood protectively by her son, hovering like he might need defending at any moment. Her wand was clutched tightly in her left hand.

“My Lord,” Draco greeted with a bow.

“Draco,” Voldemort nodded. “I believe you might recognize the prize that Pucey has gifted us with.” He gestured behind Draco and he turned, as if noticing Hermione for the first time.

His eyes appraised her, one brow lifted and lips turned down, as if disinterested. Hermione glared back. It was easy to do; she was still mad at him. She let her emotions flow forward just a bit to make her act easier to believe. There was nothing like the truth when it came to lying.

He made it look so simple, as if he really hadn’t seen her since their school days, as if he hadn’t spent the past week and half begging her to reconsider this exact situation. As if he didn’t care about her. He deserved an Oscar. She’d tell him that, after this was all over and he had begged for her forgiveness properly.

It was all lies, all of it and it hurt more than she wanted to think about in that moment. He was fully Occluded and so was she. She mirrored his indifference. She reigned in her emotions again, closing her eyes and calming the current in her mind until it was eerily still.

“So it seems,” Draco replied, turning back. “To what do we owe the honor, My Lord?”

Voldemort chuckled and the rest of the room followed. It was sick, horrific in a way that would have sent a shiver down her spine if she hadn’t been in full control of her emotions.

“That’s the question we’ll answer right now.” He raised his wand and wordlessly plowed through Hermione’s mind.

He was suspiciously careful with his attack. Nothing hurt more than the subtle burn on intrusion, like a hand placed on a hot seatbelt during a summer day, but removed before it could do any serious damage. Hermione knew this tact, of course. He was trying to insert herself in memories she wasn’t allowing access too. Without the pain and constant reminder of where he was looking, it would be easy for him to slip between the cracks and find something she didn’t want him to see. 

But Hermione was an expert. Not just at hiding her memories, but at making it seem as if she was a clumsy Occlumens, unskilled and untalented. 

She threw memories forward, more obvious ones that weren’t important and hid others behind small sea walls and tiny sandbars. These memories, while they seemed private or important— her and Fred foraging, war room meetings about raids, private moments where the war didn’t seem to exist — were artfully set up to appear much more dire than they actually were. 

Fred was no longer a secret and the majority of war room meetings she was choosing to show were months old, now irrelevant. She didn’t mind showing Voldemort that the war hadn’t broken all of her bonds. It was where he was weakest. Vaguely, she felt him flinch away from these ones and attempt to search even deeper.

He continued to plow through in a near silent manor that required a concentration that had Hermione perspiring. She felt it slip down her temples, joining the blood now collecting at her chin from the cut in her eyebrow. It was bleeding more than it should have been. She suspected it was a special type of curse he had placed on her.

He headed back, deeper into her mind, searching for weaknesses that Hermione hadn’t had since her second week learning Occlumency. 

Once it became obvious his technique wasn’t working, Voldemort became enraged. He began slashing wildly at her memories, screaming loudly inside her head. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and repressed a pained groan as he grabbed carelessly at any thoughts and reasons that popped into her mind. He jerked them around, walking on her ocean mind like he was the master of it. 

He began jumbling her memories. Tearing down seawalls and burying some underneath the sand bars, commanding her waves to come and crash upon the rocky shores. Events were becoming scrambled. 

_ Did she sleep with Dean before or after their third capture?  _ She couldn’t remember anymore, though she knew it had been an important memory to her at one point. A life altering one, something she held close.

It wasn’t anything Hermione hadn’t experienced before, but it was the first assault in her mind since her Occlumency format had changed. It made it more painful. Her head was ripped through with an intensity she hadn’t experienced since her first torture. She felt unskilled and weak. She  _ hated  _ feeling weak. She’d often thought that the thought of weakness would be the thing that would set her off, after the war was all said and done, it would be the one thing she wouldn’t be able to shake.

When Voldemort finally retreated, she found herself on the floor of the ballroom, hands gripping the shiny marble floor and knees aching as she pressed back onto them, attempting to rise. After a severe trembling in her arms she stopped. She wouldn’t struggle with an audience watching. She wasn’t sure if she’d screamed, but her throat didn’t feel raw. 

A small murmuring had broken out while she was fighting her internal battle. She raised her head, pushing the curls that had fallen out of her pins back and blinking through the blood from her gash, to see both Malfoys and Bellatrix staring down at her with disdain. 

Bellatrix’s face was alight with excitement, eyes large and face stretched in a maniacal grin.

In another universe, Hermione thought, Bellatrix was the true villain. If only she were aware of her own power.

Narcissa looked slightly sick, though it was hard to tell if it was at her presence or because of what she’d just witnessed.

Her tether was empty. She felt weak. 

Malfoy was too good at this.

“Such wonderful information you have provided me with, Miss Granger. I have much to think about now. But before we go,” Voldemort turned towards Draco and beckoned him to his side. Malfoy walked forward, unhurried and unworried and stopped to the left.

“Show the girl a lesson, won’t you? If I recall, this is something you’ve looked forward to for a while.”

Malfoy didn’t tense, not even a movement of his hands. He seemed frozen in place, standing and staring a bit longer than necessary. 

“I’m not scared of Malfoy,” Hermione goaded, because she hadn’t come this far just to be killed by a technicality. A rather large one, but she didn’t have time for semantics. 

He snapped his head around towards her, trance broken. He approached slowly, until he was less than a foot away. He stopped, wand held casually at his side. 

Left-handed, like his mother. How had she never noticed that before?

She was trembling as she found Malfoy’s eyes and saw the obvious fear written in them. It was a look she’d never seen before. Fear for her, fear for himself, but more. He’d been frightened before, but never like this. Every situation they’d found themselves in as of yet was mostly hypothetical. And in all of the worst case scenarios, Malfoy would have found a way to defend her, no matter what he claimed.

But here, the only way to save her was to torture her.

“ _ I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. She had brown eyes and cotton pants _ .”

Well, at least she was wearing a dress today.

If he couldn’t crucio Hermione, then it would be all over. This was exposure at its finest. Draco had told her. He had said that Voldemort would find another way to expose him if he had his doubts. 

He had set a trap. 

Hermione had waltzed right into it. 

She tested their bind. It was open. His fear flooded her head like a tsunami. 

_ Do it. For me, for the Order. If you can’t convince yourself to muster up then we’re all dead.  _

She sent it with all the begging and pleading and confidence she could conjure with a single glance. 

Draco swallowed. He raised his wand and Hermione hoped she was the only one that could see the slight tremble. 

“ _ Crucio,”  _ he whispered. A spark came out, red and pathetic. It bounced on the floor and hit Hermione in the shoulder. She didn’t even flinch. 

“That all you got, Malfoy?” 

It wasn’t working. She could feel his confusion and fear all working against any sense he had left in his brain. His walls were crumbling and soon everyone would notice. She needed to try something else. 

Hatred. Hate fueled Unforgivables the most. 

She closed her eyes. She pictured Voldemort winning, striking Harry down with a twisted smile on his horrid face. She considered her life afterwards— something she never let herself do. She thought about the fate of muggleborns and how she’d let them down if she couldn’t do what needed to be done. 

Chains and collars flashed before her eyes: a life of imprisonment and torture, flanked by the ownerships of Purebloods that never truly understood what they were fighting for. Her magic snatched away because despite their assertions that she was lesser than them, they feared what she was capable of if left with a wand in her hand. 

She pictured a boy with blond hair. Going along with these details because he was too cowardly to fight back against what’s wrong. Too scared and selfish, finding a way to help those enslaved to him in small ways, but never truly making any difference. Crawling through life protecting his own body instead of fighting for those who needed it most. 

Hermione took all the rage, until she was shaking— still on all fours— balled it tightly and threw it through their bind. 

The reaction was instant. Malfoy stiffened and his eyes snapped open, steel and hard and full of so much  _ hate  _ she thought he might drown in it. 

When he cast the curse next, it flew through her chest and settled into her heart. She’d never felt pain like that before, never felt a crucio cast like this. 

It was subtle, caging itself inside her chest and heating up until she was gasping, clawing at her collarbone so hard she drew blood. She could feel her heartbeat tripling in rhythm. She let a pained gasp pass through her lips before she collapsed to the ground, circling in on herself. 

When the pain stopped, she heard the loud whooping and celebratory screams of their audience. She didn’t dare look up, afraid that if she didn’t play her part she might be subjected to another round of torture. She just prayed it wouldn’t be Draco; she didn’t think she could muster up the energy to help him this time. 

The ringing in her ears began not long after her return to consciousness. She couldn’t hear anything besides the blood roaring through her veins. She jumped when two sets of hands appeared over her elbows, hauling her to her feet. 

“To the dungeons you go, pretty lady.” 

Hermione stared confusedly at the man. He was vulgar, rotten teeth and yellow eyes peering at her as if she was the main course of a meal. 

“Oh, Malfoy’s done a number on you. Can’t wait to see what else the Dark Lord has in store for this one,” he spoke over to the man on Hermione’s other side. Her body shook as both men laughed. 

She couldn’t get her feet to work. They ended up dragging her the majority of the way down the stairs. 

Once she was locked up, on the ground with her head between her hands, it took her ten minutes to realize she hadn’t seen Malfoy’s face afterwards. 

She checked her bind and nearly sobbed. It was as empty and cold as the dungeons she sat in. 

\---

Hermione had fallen asleep not long afterwards, exhaustion and pain taking precedence over everything else. She awoke to the sound of shuffling behind her. 

She raised her head, which felt like a few bricks had been placed atop it. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust, but once they did she gasped. 

Sitting cross legged just inches from her, sat a young woman, no more than eighteen. Her long dark hair was mussed and knotted and her clothes were torn to shreds, barely hiding her intimate areas. 

“You’re awake,” she said. 

Hermione pushed up into a sitting position, placing her hands out to anchor her when she swayed. 

“Hermione Granger,” she rasped, wishing desperately for a glass of water. 

“I know who you are,” the girl answered. “You’re practically gospel down here.”

“There are others?” Hermione furrowed her brows, reaching up to massage her temples against the massive pounding. 

“All the captured muggleborns, of course.”

“All of them?” Hermione had no way of keeping track of muggleborns that didn’t report to the Order. Unfortunately, there were many. Most were worried they’d be forced to fight, while others feared their alignment with the Light would put them at more risk than if they hid themselves. 

“About a dozen or so.” She stuck out her hand. “My name is Maeve. Hufflepuff.”

Hermione shook it slowly. Her palm was hardened over with calloused skin, as if she’d spent her past few years doing manual labor. It was a very valid option. If she was in hiding it was possible she’d been in the woods: chopping wood, foraging and hunting for her own food. Hermione thought back to her year on the run with the boys. Her heart clenched. 

“I don’t recognize you.”

Maeve shrugged. “You wouldn’t, I s’pose. I was only a fourth year when the war started and as a muggleborn I tried to keep to myself. I did rather well, up until a week ago.”

“How’d you get caught?”

“Snatchers. We traveled a lot, hiding in caves or behind waterfalls for some extra security. We were on the run one night and landed very late. The person responsible for wards forgot a scent one. The werewolves got us before dawn.”

“Are you all right?” Hermione studied her over. She was a bit beaten up, bruises marring her arms and face, but her breathing was steady and she was sitting up without the assistance of a wall. 

“‘M’fine. They tried to torture me but the Malfoy lad seemed to be having some kind of whiskey dick with his wand. Couldn’t do it.”

Hermione nodded and scooted herself closer, taking Maeve’s hand in hers once more. The girl flinched against it, but didn’t pull back. 

“I’m going to get you out of here. You and all the other muggleborns.”

Maeve scoffed, averting her eyes. Hermione felt her fingers twitch in her grasp. 

“Fat chance of that, the place is warded like a bitch.”

“I’m going to,” she promised. She could perhaps tell Maeve about her previous captures and how she fared then, but at the moment that felt overconfident, bordering on cocky. She would just have to show her. 

“Well,” Maeve said, pulling her hand back and leaning back to rest her palms on the ground behind her, if anyone could accomplish this then I imagine it would be Hermione bloody Granger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter. I love angst. Draco being forced to torture hermione has ALWAYS been the plan. I love the twisted idea that this was the only way to save her, especially after he had already failed at this task with Maeve. I love that Hermione uses her bind to fuel Draco's hatred because he wasn't able to find the justification himself. He was panicking, was too scared and overwhelmed. Hermione could have convinced him it was the proper thing to do if she had more time, but taking hatred and feeding it into him was the quickest option.


	25. Flashback

_ Four years ago: _

“We’re losing her.”

“Don’t you think I can see that?” Hermione hissed, blood soaking through her jumper from the wound on Cho’s chest. 

It had seemed like a simple cut before; they hadn’t paid it any mind. The mission was a complete and utter failure and there was no time to stop and dote on someone when half their forces had already been decimated. Making it out with anyone alive would be nothing short of a miracle at that point.

The apparition had been where it had all gone wrong. One moment Cho was standing beside Ron, hand on his elbow as he apparated them back, and the next she was on the floor, blood spurting from the wound that hadn’t been deeper than a half inch previously.

Hermione was on her knees and applying pressure before anyone else had moved. It was different back then. People were so ill trained with standard healing spells and the Order was falling apart so drastically that most people fell into shock before knowing how to act. Trauma was weird like that. It wasn’t like how she’d thought it would be. 

When the first dregs of war had made themselves known, it seemed like adrenaline hit first, and hard. The Order went around for months acting purely on instinct and without second thought. For a while Hermione thought she wouldn’t start to see the true effects of watching her comrades bleed out and pass horrifically until the war was long over.

She was wrong. She was so, so wrong she realized as she sat there with Cho’s innards in her hands while the others stood over her, frozen and pale. Unmoving, unthinking with looks of horror marring their faces. It wasn’t that they weren’t willing to help, but they  _ couldn’t.  _ Hermione called Harry’s name ten times before she gave up. He wasn’t there. His mind had retreated to some far off corner to try and hide what little humanity there was left. 

It was similar for all the others as well. It wasn’t always the same people. When she stood frozen watching Colin Creevey choke on his own blood, Ron was able to burst into action and save his life. It seemed there would always be at least one person that was able to push back their initial horror and spring into leadership.

Cho died not long after she’d collapsed to the ground. A new spell the Death eaters had created that she wasn’t able to get identification on in time to save her life. Hermione stood a few minutes after Cho’s labored breathing had stopped, shoes squelching on the obscene amount of blood that puddled the entryway to Grimmauld Place. Blood that would never be scrubbed away completely. A rug would appear to cover the spot the next day, but Hermione would always know what it was hiding; she would always remember that her own insolence and inability had caused a fellow schoolmate their life. 

It wasn’t survivor’s guilt, Hermione told herself later on that night, after her screams had faded and the tears had long dried. If Hermione had kept her cool long enough, she  _ could  _ have figured the spell to save her. She looked down at the scrap of paper Snape had written the counter spell on. 

It was simple. It was so, so much easier than it should have been. Had she not been panicked, she could have figured it out in five minutes, tops.

But all the schooling in the world couldn’t prepare her for the expectations of war. There was no time to think, only to act. Dodge the spells. Fire back and don’t look to see if it hit. Keep moving. Cover your comrades. 

And don’t fucking panic when you’re confronted with a dying body.

But how could she not? When someone’s life was in her hands, how was she expected to keep her mind in one piece? Her hands shook on a regular basis; she had been declared too unsteady for healer work months ago.

“I’m not cut out to heal people,” she told Harry, who was sitting on the couch next to her, her feet in his lap. He was staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Hermione peeled the label on her beer bottle absentmindedly. She wasn’t sure if the events had truly sunk in with him.

“Do you think anyone is truly cut out for this?”

Hermione shrugged. “I think we all have strengths and we’re too busy being frantic and trying to make up lost ground to truly be able to play off them. Like you,” she began, sitting up and planting her feet on the ground. “You can fire an accurate  _ stupefy  _ from three hundred yards away, yet you’re always the ones leading the fight. How does that make sense? And Ron, the older aurors refuse to let him assist with strategy planning for the bigger missions even though his recent plan is the only that’s been executed in three months where everyone has come back alive.”

“You’re right,” Harry said. “What do we do about it?”

She didn’t know. They were just children in the grand scheme of things. No one took them seriously, writing off their past incidents as sheer luck and dismissing any claims they’d made. They were floundering just as bad as everyone else. No one was made for war, not even those dedicated to catching dark wizards.

“We all just need to work together more. They send us out in these frazzled teams that don’t seem to have any cohesion to them and we can’t function as a unit.”

“Preaching teamwork to Moody is sure to get you on cleanup duty for the next month.”

“If you think I’m wrong then you should say so.”

“You’re not wrong, I just don’t see what we can do about it.”

_ Something,  _ Hermione thought. She had to do something before the next body writhing on the ground was herself.

\---

_ 3.5 years ago _

“A binding spell,” she declared, slamming a heavy book down on the table and turning her head when dust plumed into the air.

“You want us to get married?” Ron wrinkled his nose. “No offense, Mione, but—“

“No, Ronald. There are other binding rituals besides the one of marriage.”

“That will help us win this war?” Harry asked. His eyes were hopeful. It was the brightest she’d seen in ages.

They had lost a large crew of the older aurors last week. A mission turned catastrophic. Moody had come in not two hours ago to tell them their intensive training would begin tomorrow. Hermione hadn’t said a word to him. She didn’t see the point. After Ron had taken over their strategy planning for the younger fighters (after weeks of Hermione  _ begging  _ Moody for the opportunity) their turnover rate had vastly diminished, even as the missions increased in difficulty and demand.

Whatever the older generation was doing, it wasn’t working. Their numbers were a quarter of the size it had been at the start of the war. Hermione wanted no part in whatever they had planned. She’d started researching. Anything she could do to save her friends from these fates, she would try.

“Well, I haven’t found anything quite perfect yet.” Harry’s shoulders slumped. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not out there!”

“And what if it’s not?”

Hermione met Harry’s gaze. 

“Then we make it ourselves.”

\---

“If we can combine the elements of this ritual along with—”

“How do you combine elements of  _ binding,  _ Hermione? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“These bindings were all made from scratch at some point, Harry. If they can do it, so can we.”

“It’s not a pie recipe.”

“I imagine the combinations of these two specific rituals might cause a conflict of heart,” Luna began cutting Hermione off before she could reply and pointing to one of the many unrolled parchments that were scattered on the table. “It will increase dueling ability, but it’s soul deep.”

“Aren’t all binds?” asked Harry.

They had been at it for weeks, coming home exhausted from training and missions and drinking large pots of coffee and tea to continue working on this task. Ron had ducked out just a few hours into the first meeting and Luna had joined just a couple days after that. She was quick thinking and seemed to have a particular interest in binds that made her the perfect addition to the team. Hermione had the drive and Harry had the confidence and Luna held it all together with her level head.

“Yes, but this one specifically links the souls, not just the mind and body. It’ll transcend other planes of relationships.”

“It’s the only one we’ve found that’s compatible with the dueling portion. We  _ need  _ the dueling portion.”

Luna gave Hermione a soft smile. “I’m not saying you’re not right. This isn’t just a war time bind, though. It won’t fade away just because the fighting stops.”

“Is there any way to make it less intense?” Harry asked.

It was silent for a while as they all thought, the only sounds were the pages flipping as the trio flipped through the stacks of books they had accumulated. 

\---

Snape had become part of the group quite on accident.

The project wasn’t a secret, necessarily, but it wasn’t something they wanted to broadcast. They were making real progress and all three of them knew it. They didn’t want to be forced to stop by a negative Moody.

They were in one of the rarely used sitting rooms below the first floor. It couldn’t quite be considered the basement because there were still two floors below even this one. Still, there were no windows for sunlight and therefore made it less desirable.

Hermione knew it was the place they kept their extra potion stores. She just hadn’t realized that they were swimming in enough extra potions that anyone would make an appearance down there.

When they heard the door open, they fumbled with their parchments and books. They even hid them in time, but Snape wasn’t buying it. He threatened Veritaserum on them before they gave in.

He wasn’t angry, surprisingly. After the Battle of Hogwarts he had become a lot less unapproachable. It didn’t mean she was thrilled to have his curiosity. 

After the initial exploration, he had left. Hermione thought that would be it. Snape had said he’d no interest in exposing them to Moody and that was good enough for them to continue without further interruptions.

The next day, when they had returned muddy and sweaty from a mission, they clambered down the stairs to find Snape was already there, with a theoretical book on magical cores open.

No one dared question it. They worked in silence for three hours before he lifted his head from his book and brought up his findings.

“If you bind to the core instead of the soul, it is likely you’ll have a less drastic effect.”

Harry eyed him warily, but Luna merely perked up, grabbing for a parchment slowly and taking notes.

“How will that affect the dueling aspect?”

“If you bind to the soul then the effects of their partner being injured or killed would be detrimental to them. That’s even if they made it past the original ceremony. The act of bringing two souls so close together in such a fastidious manner is inadvisable. They wouldn’t be two people anymore. The issues that arise with the psyche itself should cause you to abandon this project.”

"Right, my psyche is totally intact right now as it is.”

Snape appraised Hermione, brow raised.

“Binding to the magical core will allow less intensity. It can be something that starts off light and grows in intensity at a slower pace. It will give your mental aptitude time to adjust.”

“And the dueling?” Hermione pressed.

“Much improved to what you have now.”

And that was what they needed, after all.

\---

_ 3 years ago _

It was a mostly silent day. Their training had just been separated into two groups because there were finally too many Order members to fit into the room they had designated on the fourth floor. With all the recent recruitments, soon that wouldn’t even be a valid solution. It wasn’t in any case, not really. The whole point was to get a team incentive going, but now that the teams had expanded in size they all barely fit anyways. They would have to think of something more permanent, and quick.

She was standing up on the roof, considering her options. It was a nice day, the humid heat of summer behind them and the bitter winds of autumn not quite showing themselves. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the momentary peace. It wouldn’t last.

It never did.

She turned her head back a moment before the door burst open, Harry and Ron bustling through with looks of shocks.

“I can only hope the surprise is because Harry finally beaten you in a game of Wizard’s Chess?”

They stared for a moment, and then Ron snorted. Harry turned to him, indignant.

“I’ve beaten you before—”

“Harry, I had taken eight shots that night and you were stone cold. I hardly think that counts.”

“You challenged me, didn’t you?”

“Drunk, Harry. That means I make bad decisions.”

Harry turned back to Hermione. “I still beat you,” he muttered.

“I’ll have—”

“Boys!” Hermione snapped. “To the point, please.”

“Right,” they answered in unison. 

“Downstairs.”

And they turned without another word.

\---

The last thing Hermione expected to see downstairs was a Hippogriff and Unicorn making love while Seamus painted the scene and Dean juggled cornish pixies for galleons.

The second to last thing she thought she’d see was Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson sitting on the couch, looking exhausted and ragged.

“Oh,” she breathed, stopping short before the door.

Luna was being the ever gracious host, serving tea and making small talk as about ten others stared on with shocked silence. Seamus was making rather crude comments under his breath, but no one else seemed to notice.

“They arrived on the doorstep a half hour ago,” Harry whispered. “They… knocked.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, briefly wondering how this had become her responsibility, but as all eyes fell on her she knew she had somehow become the liaison when Moody wasn’t available.

So she shooed everyone else out of the room and took one of the untouched tea cups off the table and prepared for a long night of questioning.

For the most part, Theo was the one that spoke. Pansy looked a complete fright, jumping when Hermione cleared her throat or if she shifted too quickly. She itched to ask her what she’d been through that had left her so damaged, but she thought about her own scars and her unwillingness to speak about them and kept her mouth closed. 

“Why the Order?” she questioned finally, after ages of Theo providing nonanswers and trying to distract her with stories of how they got here. She didn’t much care about that.

“I suppose we could have stayed with the Death Eaters, but seeing as we don’t have much in common anymore…” he trailed off.

“Pureblood, Slytherin, a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” Hermione listed these on her fingers, shooting Theo a hard glance. To his credit, he didn’t drop his eyes. “It seems you have more in common than you think.”

“It’s not worth it,” Pansy said. Her eyes were off to the side, glancing at the lamp that threw off orange light in the otherwise dim room. It occurred to Hermione that she might have never seen electricity in use before now.

It wasn’t enough, but at the same time it was. Because it was the most truth she’d been told all night. 

All the things they’d been promised in the new world weren’t worth what it took to get there. Hermione didn’t sit and ask about prejudices or changed viewpoints, because they wouldn’t be here if they felt that way still. It’s not that they didn’t have their biases. But they could work together on that. Some of these thoughts had been hammered into their heads since they were young children. They were instant reactions that had to be unlearned. 

The Order could work with that. If they were willing to change, then the Order was willing to teach.

That, and they were in no position to be turning away decent duelers. 

Three months ago she had faced off against Pansy and was stuck in the infirmary for a week. Just weeks before that Theo had nearly blown her head off. 

They were dirty, but maybe it was time the Order learned a bit more about that.

\---

Theo and Pansy’s presence was taken relatively well, considering the circumstances. Very few deadly hexes were thrown their way and only three Order members had to be put on suspension before wands were lowered.

Moody and Kingsley had taken to the idea of them joining forces immediately. 

“It’s good to begin rehabilitation early on,” Kingsley had said with a smile.

“They’re both decent enough with a wand to kill,” Moody had declared without a modicum of emotion.

Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt that those were the first two reasons she’d thought of as well. 

“Make them loyal, Granger.” 

Hermione turned from the door, which she was halfway out when Moody spoke this.

“Shall I slip them amortentia?” she replied drily.

“How are your binding rituals going?”

They had begun binding just a few weeks prior. Luna and Harry had been first, followed by Hermione and Hannah. Their dynamics were… odd, to say the least. 

Luna had been admitted to the hospital for sleep deprivation. No sleeping draught would work, and it wasn’t until Harry appeared at her bedside that she finally fell asleep for eighteen hours. After that, they made the decision to share a room, even though there was enough for everyone to have their own. 

Hermione and Hannah were not rooting, but they’d decided to share as well. The sleeping issue was a big one, and if it could be resolved that easily then it didn’t seem like a big deal.

Everyone that was scheduled to be bound had been made aware of the extensive list of side effects. They were all seeing them play out now, and it was obvious it put people on edge. Still, no one was backing out. They would complete Ron and Dean’s later on this evening. 

Everyone was devoted. More than anyone were those who were bound. They didn’t want to give up on each other.

Hermione understood. She nodded towards Moody.

“I’ll cast the diagnostic tonight. Let them know our conditions.”

\---

“Granger, if you point that wand at me one more time I  _ will  _ snap it.”

“You can either let me cast the diagnostic on the both of you or I can send you onto the street with nothing but the clothes you’re wearing.”

Pansy glared, arms crossed and lip pulled up into a sneer. Typical Pansy. She probably wasn’t capable of emotions that moved beyond anger or pining after Malfoy. She didn’t drop her glare but eventually she sighed and uncrossed her arms.

“Well, are you going to do it or not?”

She lifted her wand, but Theo grabbed it and pushed it down before she could cast anything.

“Why won’t you tell us what it’s for?”

“It’ll be easier to explain once I have all the information.”

“You’re not being fair to us,” he insisted.

“You don’t get to claim what is and isn’t fair just weeks after switching sides.”

Theo deflated. He dropped his eyes.

“We don’t trust you.” Hermione looked over her shoulder to the open door, but there was no one there. She leaned closer, whispering. “I’m trying here, but you’re going to need to give me  _ something.  _ This is what they’re asking for.”

Theo sat back against the couch and dropped his head, eyeing Pansy wearily before nodding his agreement.

Hermione cast over Pansy. She read the diagnostic before pulling out a small, black notebook. She opened to the middle of the book, where she had recorded the results of all the other Order members that had agreed to participate in the binding.

She started at the top, sliding her finger down until she found the closest match. Hermione’s eyes widened. She choked back a cough.

“Right.” She cleared her throat. “Nott.” She recorded Theo’s and nearly fainted. Godric, they were going to  _ murder  _ her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter so much. I love exploring how they came up with the bind and why. I don't have any interest in killing any of the established characters so I like to show you all the characters that have died and how awful it was for our mains.  
> I really really like placing this chapter right inbetween two very intense moments. The last chapter was maddeningly brutal and the next one (and all after that) are very plot driven. So enjoy this blast from the past.


	26. Historical Apparition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the ideas in this chapter are a little outlandish.. but it's my fic and I had a lot of fun creating them.

“How do you plan on doing it?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

“I was always told Hermione Granger thought at least six steps ahead,” Maeve said with a sniff. “But here you are, without even a single idea.”

“I’ll know the opportunity when it presents itself.”

Maeve shot her a doubtful glare. Hermione had been down in the dungeons for two days now with no contact from any Death Eaters except the low ranking ones that brought the food down. They didn’t even bother opening the cell door, just shrank the food down to fit between the bars and enlarged it once it hit the wet floor. The gash above her eyes continued to bleed, no matter how much pressure was applied to it. It wasn’t an alarming amount, but just enough to continuously drip into her line of sight. It was more annoying than anything.

“I’ve escaped from here enough times. Trust me, it might take some time but I  _ will  _ get us all out of here.”

She’d met the other prisoners, but they shied away from her more than Maeve. Maeve was brash and blunt, much opposite from any of the other Hufflepuffs Hermione had met. She didn’t think of Hannah.  _ Couldn’t  _ think of her right now.

“It’s really rude of you to get my hopes up like that.”

“Then don’t believe me.” She’d heard enough of it all before, and she understood. Words meant nothing in this world. She’d just have to show her. 

“You ought to get some rest,” Maeve said, standing and brushing her hands on her torn pants. “Carrying all that responsibility on your shoulders must be truly exhausting.”

\---

Hermione was awoken by the light rattling of the cell bars. She had fallen asleep on her side, arm supporting her head so it wasn’t resting on the hard cement floor. Her back was towards the entrance and she rolled over with a groan, vision going red for a moment as all the blood that had collected in the corner of her eye spilled down the opposite side. She rubbed it out slowly, groaning against the ache in her back.

“Granger.” The voice was louder and now that she was awake she could recognize it. The ache in her chest was significantly less. She had spent the past few days wrapped up in her own thoughts and trying to gain the trust of the other prisoners that she hadn’t noticed how much it had increased. It felt like a weight had been lifted off; like the worst cold in the world had finally subsided.

She squinted through the darkness until she could make out his figure.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, acting as if she wasn’t happy to see him. Partly because anyone could be awake and listening, but also because she was still mad at him for what he’d done before her mission. She might be a war torn heroine, but she was still Hermione Granger. She could hold a grudge when need be.

“Check the other mudbloods, I hardly need their tainted ears listening in on what I’m about to do.” How Draco could manage to make his voice sound both uncaring  _ and  _ hateful, she would never understand. 

Hermione stood and tiptoed to the back of the cell, where the other slept in close quarters. Possibly for warmth, but Hermione knew it was more. Human contact at times this dire was sometimes the only light you could get.

“They’re all asleep but you should cast a silencing charm all the same.”

He did so wandlessly. “I really don’t need you to tell me what to do. I’m aware of the intricacies of having a conversation with a war prisoner.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

She was leering through the bars, hands grasping onto them lightly. Malfoy was standing just as close, but his arms were loose at his side. 

“You’re an idiot,” he spat. “How could you be so stupid?”

“If you would have done your job with Maeve in the first place then I wouldn’t need to be here.”

“So I’m the devil incarnate because I couldn’t torture someone?”

“Well you had no issue torturing me.”

His eyes softened immediately, hands coming up to cover hers. Anguish flooded through her, tearing through her chest and settling deep into her bones. All the things he had been hiding from her.

“I didn’t—”

I know,” she said, softening immediately. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You saved my life with that. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

“Couldn’t have been easy?” His teeth were clenched and suddenly he was angry again. She was going to get whiplash from his ever changing emotional state. “Not easy is having the Dark Lord search my mind for hours for any hint that I’ve been disloyal. Not easy is answering my father’s incessant questions about why my cruciatus failed the first time.” He tightened his hands around hers, until they were throbbing against the pressure of the bars. “What you forced me into was crippling. If I had to dream up the worst case scenario for this war, I would have never thought of something so vile myself. But you forced me into it.”

Hermione wet her lips. “I didn’t have a choice. How was I to know—”

“If you could leave well enough alone for just a single day then you would have never put me in that situation.”

“You’re not the only one that was put into a tough choice, Draco. How do you think it felt for me to be tortured by the one person I’m supposed to trust more than anyone else?”

He swallowed, eyes coming up to meet hers. He looked… sad. And for all the words to describe Draco Malfoy, she doesn’t think that had ever been one.

“How did it feel?” 

She almost lied, almost didn’t tell him because she didn’t want to heavy his burden anymore than she already had. Because he was right. She made a decision against his best judgment and he was dragged into it despite his adamant refusal to assist her. And he had done the impossible task. He had earned her trust, despite what he’d done to Ron. There wasn’t time to deal with that now. She could afford him honesty.

“It felt… different. No less painful than any other cruciatus, but it didn’t hurt the same. Normally it’s all in my head, but this time it started in my chest.”

“Like it transferred through our bind.”

Hermione averted her eyes. “Maybe. I can’t be sure.”

“I can be.” He ducked down to catch her gaze. A slither of light came down from a crack in the door at the top of the stairs, and it served to emphasise the dark circles under his eyes. They had always been there, since their first meeting, but they looked deeper now, more pronounced.

“Draco. This doesn’t have to change anything between us.”

“But it does,” he insisted, sounding desperate. “Can’t you feel it?”

“I feel your guilt and anger, but that’s all you. It doesn’t have anything to do with the bind.”

He let out a choked breath and leant his head against the bars. Hermione raised a shaking hand and ran it through his hair. His breathing didn’t even out but his shoulder sagged a bit as he leaned into his touch.

“You saved my life. I pushed the hatred into you and you did exactly what you should have. Please don’t forget that.”

His eyes were squeezed shut, but he nodded, rising slowly and backing away a few steps.

"I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you sooner. Things have been mad up there, trying to decide what to do with you.”

“I’m sure they’ve all been pleasant,” she replied drily.

“Now that you’ve been captured the Dark Lord seems to have lost interest. He thinks the Order will fall apart without your direction and he has the utmost fate that his followers will think of satisfactory torture methods.”

“Charming. I assume he’s unaware of my previous captures and escapes then?”

Malfoy shrugged. “You were quick back then. No one has ever brought you back without first trying to do you in.”

“Are you calling that drunk lard smart?”

His mouth quirked up into a smile. “No, but he seemed to luck into some sensibilities. Maybe you mashed some into him through your tongue in his mouth.”

Hermione’s lips curled. “He was vile. Tasted like cheap firewhiskey and was doused in cologne.”

“Well that was just to cover up his unbelievable body odor,” he said. After a pause, “not the best snog you’ve had recently?”

Hermione tried, and failed to stave off the oncoming blush. “I can think of another that left me much more satisfied.” She let out a small laugh, and with it she watched Draco’s eyes clear, if only a bit.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

He didn’t need to say it. But something loosened in her chest at the words anyway.

\---

The next night, she slept closer to the bars. She was nudged by Draco before she’d even had a chance to close her eyes. 

“Have you had a chance to get to know them?” He chucked his chin towards the back corner, where everyone else was once again huddled together.

“They’re rather unimpressed with me. I suppose the idea of a Golden Girl is a lot more reassuring than my actual presence.”

“You’re like a God to the muggleborns.”

Hermione tilted her head to the side. “Weird that you would know that and I don’t.”

“Not really. When’s the last time you interacted with anyone outside of the Order?”

Hermione twirled a piece of hair around her finger. She repressed a smile as Draco’s eyes followed the motion. “It’s been a while.”

“And it’s been a while since any new members joined, has it?”

Hermione shrugged. 

“Where are all the brave souls that sat at your Great Hall table, then?”

“Dead.”

He blinked. 

“They all came right away. They were ready to fight the good fight and they all perished doing it. There’s no one left.”

She thought of Oliver Wood, arriving at Grimmauld Place and eager to prove his Gryffindor courage, just days after the Battle of Hogwarts, when morale was at an all time low. 

“I miss Quidditch,” he admitted, standing in front of the Order council and going over his reasons for joining. “I’d fight even if Quidditch was the only thing at stake. It’s not!” He corrected with his hands held up in defense. “But I think we could all use the joy and camaraderie that a good match brings us.”

When he had been hit by an acid burning hex in the ribs a few weeks after they’d come out of hiding, Hermione sat over him, squeezing his hands and telling him everything was going to be okay. His blood soaked her palms and she could feel it seeping into her pants. 

“Hermione,” he’d whispered. She leaned closer, begging him not to speak, but he merely shook his head. “When all this is over and the Order has won, will you play a game of quidditch in my honor?”

She’d nodded, sobbing over his body. This was before she’d tried her hand at Occlumency, before she realized she’d fall apart like this everytime. She had hidden herself away and cried for the following week, staring at Oliver’s broom stashed away in her closet. It was the only possession he’d brought along with him. 

It was silent for a while. She knew Draco had seen it all; she’d let him in for that reason. She wanted to hide it away, all the pain and anguish was her embarrassment and vulnerability and Draco had no right to it. 

And he didn’t. He wasn’t prying or even asking and it gave Hermione the courage to let him see, if only for a moment. 

“There’s a reason I came here tonight,” he said. “Something’s going to happen tomorrow.”

Hermione sat up straighter. “Will I have an opportunity to get everyone out?”

Draco hesitated, mouth falling open for just a second too long. “Maybe.”

“Draco, don’t put yourself and your position at risk for this. I’ll find another way.”

“There might not be another opportunity like this for a while. And if you want to get them all out then this is the perfect chance.” He licked his lips, and for a swift moment Hermione remembered what it felt like when they were pressed against hers. It seemed like a lifetime ago and she almost slapped herself when she thought that things had been simpler then.

"None of this is simple, Granger,” he whispered, leaning in through the bars. She was already as close to him as she could get, cheek pressed against the cool metal. Her bind ached for his presence, irritated that she could feel him upstairs most nights, close enough to sense but too far to give her any peace. 

“I miss you,” she whispered. She hated saying it because she still wanted to be mad at what he’d done to Ron and Fred, but his nose was nudging hers and it was so painfully true that she couldn’t keep quiet about it.

His eyes dropped to her lips at the same time his fingers clutched one of her loose curls. The bars were wide, large enough for a small child to fit in between because if they were stupid enough to get that far then the wards right before the door would kill them and alert whoever was on guard upstairs.

When their lips met it was slow in an almost painful way, nostalgic of a time when they had the luxury to enjoy things instead of taking and taking until there was nothing left within them. His lips moved over hers with a precision that had her breathing picking up and toes curling in her shoes. She reached through the bars and grabbed his robes, pulling him closer as his teeth grazed her lower lips. She let out a moan, more quiet than she would have liked but loud enough to remind them that Draco hadn’t cast a silencing charm yet.

She pulled back, listening to his labored breathing in the pitch black before turning to see if their noise had woken anyone. When she felt safe, she saw Draco stowing his wand back into his holster on his forearm.

“I figured you would have refused my advances on the grounds that you’re still mad at me.”

“Why punish myself as well?” His eyes widened and she smirked at him, glad to be on an even playing field once more.

“You’re going to kill me. You’re positively evil.”

Hermione sat back. As much as she wanted to snog him at this moment it was probably better to keep some distance. “You said you were here to talk about escape plans?”

Draco nodded. “Tomorrow. They’ll be taking all of you out and escorting you to Nott Manor.”

“Nott Manor? But—”

“Please don’t ask any questions.” His eyes, even in the darkness, looked pleading. Her curiosity prickled through their bind and flowed into Draco’s mind. She was abruptly blocked out by strong walls.

Hermione huffed. “You’re keeping me out.”

“It’s not your mind. You don’t have a twenty-four seven invite.”

“You’re hiding something from me.”

“Yes,” Draco said. “It’ll be better implemented if you don’t know.”

“If I don’t know what?”

Draco stood, backing away to the door at the front of the dungeons. “Get them out before you reach Nott Manor. There will be a small area where the apparition wards fade enough for you to make your move.”

“How will I apparate without a wand? I don’t know this area, nor where all the wards begin and end.”

“You’ll know,” he promised, hand on the knob. “I’m giving you all the details I can. If you can’t get out before the Manor then don’t make any stupid moves. Wait it out.” His eyes bore into her with an intensity so powerful Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. “I mean it, Granger. Even if it looks like the perfect opportunity to escape, if you’re in the manor then  _ don’t  _ make any moves.”

“Draco, what are you—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Prepare everyone.”

“I haven’t a wand,” she insisted. No wand, no apparition.

“You’ve got twelve other witches and wizards in there with you. Figure something out, or they’ll be dead by the end of the night.”

\---

“How do you know we’ll be moved today?” Maeve asked. She seemed to be the only one willing to speak for the rest of the group. They all stood behind her, eyeing Hermione suspiciously. Most of them weren’t even willing to share their names with her, as if she’d draft them into the War Order the moment they were out of here.

As if they didn’t want to fight if this was the only other option.

“If you’d rather not trust me that’s perfectly fine, but otherwise I’ll need you to contribute to the brainstorming. We need to figure out a way to apparate without wands.”

“Unlikely,” said an older blond witch. “Apparition is one of the most difficult bits of magic there is. The destination in itself requires immense concentration and an accurate flare of your magical core.”

Hermione turned to face the lady head on. “What?”

“Your magical core,” she said, wrapping her moth eaten shawl tightly around her shoulders. “It flares everytime you cast a spell or do accidental magic. It’s actually a common misbelief that most times spells misfire is improper use of the wand. Oftentimes it’s the magical core.”

“Can you control the flare of your magical core?”

“What a silly question,” the lady stuck her nose in the air. “It’s  _ your  _ core. Who else would control it?”

“Even without a wand?” Another man, gently balding in the center of his head asked.

“Of course. Back in the ancient times, wands hadn’t even been invented. Do you think our ancestors simply went without? It was tougher of course, but they found ways to make it work. Apparition is one of the oldest forms of magic out there, but back then they could only travel a few kilometres without the risk of splinching themselves, and it had to be done in groups.”

“Groups?” Maeve asked.

"Yes, that way their cores could flare for their assigned reason. Destination, determination and deliberation. There needed to be at least 6 of them, two for each cause.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. Surely Draco wasn’t aware… “What did you do before the war?”

The unnamed lady eyed Hermione suspiciously, green eyes narrowing, as if determining if this was information that would later be used against her. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. 

  
"I worked in the Department of History,” she said finally. “I actually specialized in apparition when I was younger, but it’s been years since I explored the intricacies of—”

“If our ancestors could do it, then so could we.” This was it. Draco knew who was down here and what they were capable of.

A man in the very back snorted. He was short enough that the others covered him and Hermione instantly thought,  _ coward,  _ and it wasn’t until that very moment that she truly understood the ways in which war had warped her mind, had changed her from these people in front of her that had never experienced the frontlines. They were frightened of her, of what she was capable of. 

She wasn’t a God, she was a fallen angel guiding them through a layer of Hell they needed to get through to keep on surviving.

“Even if we  _ could  _ do it,” Maeve began, glaring around the person blocking the snorter, “it doesn’t mean we’d be able to accomplish it in time. Some of us weren’t even old enough to learn apparition.”

“And we’d all need to be able to pinpoint a single location,” another witch pointed out.

“Not all,” said the blond witch. “Just those who were focusing on destination.”

Hermione turned toward her. “Can it be done, or do we need to think of another plan?”

She pursed her lips in contemplation, but eventually nodded. “But we wouldn’t all be able to go. There’s thirteen of us and we need to be divided into equal groups.”

Hermione nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll stay. I’ll make sure you all get out.”

“Hermione, that’s insane. You’ll get yourself killed.” Maeve’s voice was void of all emotion, but her crossed arms twitched. She licked her dry lips. “You need to get back to the Order.”

“And I will,” she insisted. “Just not with all of you.” The environment shifted then. They’d all thought this entire operation was about Hermione. Hermione surviving, Hermione saving them, Hermione bringing them back to fight for the Order. 

But Hermione had stopped caring about her own life around the same time she’d seen Hagrid carrying what she thought was Harry’s dead body. She would have given her own life to see him move again. 

And when he’d jumped up, she vowed to do that very thing if it was what was required. 

“But—”

“There’s no time to argue. We need to work on this before they come and grab us. First we need to find three people that know of the same place that’s close enough by Nott Manor.”

A group of the younger wizards had apparently gone to school together, and all recalled a camping spot nearby enough that Esmelda (the Department of History witch) felt confident it could work. Apparently they had all been on the run together and were captured not far from there. She appointed four of them to focusing on  _ destination.  _

The rest of the other eight were divided between determination and deliberation based on a short personality test Esmelda had given.   


“Focus on your core,” she instructed, as Hermione walked around the loose circle that had been formed. “It’s always been there, but it’s not something we were ever taught to actively acknowledge. But if you close your eyes and look within yourself you might find you can feel your magic flowing through you.”

“I feel it,” breathed Maeve. “It tickles the end of my fingertips.”

“Follow that feeling backwards, if you concentrate hard enough it will lead you to a larger source of magic.”

“Yes,” answered another wizard.

“Get to know it. Let go, look within and find it again. Do this until you’re able to find it within a few moments.”

They spent a while on this, hours perhaps. The sun was high in the sky by the time Esmelda deemed them ready to move on. 

“Now think about the word you’ve been given. For those of you who have apparated before, forget the other two temporarily. Reach into your core. Wrap it around your word. Define the word. Imagine yourself apparating with only this word in mind. Imagine your magic shooting from you directly from your core, not a wand. You’re the source of your magic and your wand is just a tool.”

Esmelda was quite good at giving pep talks. When Maeve freaked out because she didn’t know what deliberation meant, Esmelda assured her that her lack of apparition practice wouldn’t matter. 

“There was no test to pass back in ancient days. Skilled groups of children were able to accomplish it. In fact, you might even find you’re at a bit of an advantage here. Everyone else has to unlearn things they’ve been doing for years. You merely need to connect with your core and let your magic flow. Once you’re confident in your ability, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I wish we could practice it,” a young girl said. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old. She’d probably never even attended Hogwarts. Hermione didn’t want to know what trials she had to go through to discover she was magic and have it ripped away from her all before puberty.

“This is what we’ve got. Are we sure the spot you’ve picked isn’t too far away?”

One of the men shrugged. “We were friends with one of the Nott sisters, and we picked that spot so she could sneak away after her father went to sleep. It can’t be too far.”

Hermione nodded. “Right. Once you’re there, you’ll need to find a way to get in contact with the Order.”

There was an uproarious disagreement. Hermione raised a hand to silence them all. Surprisingly, it fell quiet.

“No one needs to fight. They will send you to safehouses and protect you.” She made eye contact with Maeve, who had gone pale. “No more caves. No more going hungry. You’ll have beds and a roof and people looking out for you.”

It was silent except for the dripping of the leaky pipes in the background. 

“How do we reach the Order?”

Hermione hesitated. “I—”

The door burst open suddenly, and Malfoy walked through, flanked by two younger Death Eaters that she didn’t recognize. Hermione approached the bars quickly as the others fled backwards.

“The Order will always find those in need,” she said loudly. She stared at Malfoy while she said this and he raised an eyebrow. She widened her eyes slightly, trying to translate.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Message received, Granger. The Order is good and mighty and will save you lot.” He snorted, turning to look at the other wizards until they joined in laughter with him. “Fat chance of that happening.”

She nodded at him, and through their bind came a whirlwind of reassurance.

The Order would know. They would be ready.

She just wasn’t sure how any of them would react once they realized Hermione wasn’t going with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of apparition originally needing groups of people just feels very natural to me, though I understand it's an outlandish idea. There's three things that need to be considered and that's kind of a lot. To me, it makes sense that originally it was a group activity (like carpooling) before wands existed and magic advanced. With wands, magic was able to be streamlined and enhanced and people realized they could apparate alone (though I imagine this discovery came with many splinches. The more people there are for each group, the easier it is to apparate.  
> I very strongly believe wands are really played up in the original HP universe. I definitely think the book makes wandless magic seem a lot harder than I headcanon it should be. If magic is so ancient and old then it existed before people made wands, which means people were able to reach within their cores and use it without the assistance of that tool. Wands help streamline and strengthen their cores, but everything (with some tweaks) that they're able to do with wands should (theoretically and in my opinion) be done without them.  
> Of course, with the evolution of magic it kind of falls to the wayside and wands takeover. This is why ppl struggle with it so much. I get it, but in this I warped it for sure. I'm not sorry if you don't like it.


	27. Ultimate Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the second part of this chapter while listening to Work Song by Hozier on repeat. That's how I recommend you read the second half as well.  
> EDIT: so while listening to the playlist I use when I normally write, It has come to my attention that the song I ACTUALLY listened to while writing the second half of this story was actually Night We Me by Lord Huron. I recommend this song over Work Song, but they both fit wonderfully. I just think Night We Met fits the mood a bit better.

When they were pulled into the daylight, Hermione saw that there were another ten Death Eaters waiting on the lawn. They were all dressed in black robes and had evil grins on their faces. Hermione’s stomach twisted.

“Shall we be off, Draco?” 

Hermione recognized Nott Sr. She was glad to see he resembled Theo so little. 

Each man went and flanked the prisoners on the outside. They were all trapped within a circle of Death Eaters.

They had no idea the grave error they’d just made.

Hermione physically felt when the wards disappeared. She side eyed Draco and he gave a slight nod. She hadn’t realized all the time she’d spent designing, constructing and destroying wards had made her so sensitive to them. But then again the Pureblood Manors were all heavily protected. It wouldn’t be too hard to feel magic that strong drop away, especially if she was searching for it.

She turned her head to both sides. All eyes were on her. Everyone had managed to find themselves with the group they were assigned. They were all ready, just waiting on her signal.

She raised her arm over her head. The group in the middle came to a stop, drawing the attention of the Death Eaters behind them. Quickly they all moved together, forming a tight ring in which they all linked elbows. Hermione looked on from the side and tried to seem confused.

They all spun in the same direction.

A giant crack so loud blew them all off their feet. Hermione landed on her arse several feet away. When she looked up, dust had been stirred up, but she could clearly see an empty spot where twelve bodies had just stood. She smirked.

Around her chaos had broken out. Several people charged after her and grabbed her roughly to ensure her escape didn’t follow, and the majority were yelling.

She looked off to the side to see Draco’s eyes on her. Through their bind she could feel his anger sizzle and pop.

\---

After they’d arrived at the Manor, Draco pulled her into a bedroom upstairs. Hermione turned on him sharply.

“Those muggleborns that were down in the dungeons with me. They weren’t randomly selected.”

Silence. And then, “no.”

“They all had unique abilities, jobs or relations.”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Why were they being taken to Nott Manor?”

Draco’s eyes fell to the floor. He licked his lips before taking a deep breath and meeting her gaze directly.

“Things slow down in the winter time. You know this. The Death Eaters get bored. They were looking for something to keep them… entertained this holiday season.”

Hermione could feel her heart rate picking up. She tried to pull up her Occlumency shields to counteract the effects, but she failed. 

“And this entertainment… it involved those muggleborns?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

Her breathing increased. She could feel the color flushing her face as her anger began to overtake all rational thought. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to reign in her emotions. 

“What were they planning?” she asked through clenched teeth.

She knew it, knew what he would say before it came out.

“A hunt.”

But hearing it out loud was surreal.

“Tell me,” she said, eyes still closed. “Tell me what they planned.”

She couldn’t see him, but through their bind she could feel his apprehension. It was a bad idea. Once these words were out in the open she would never be able to forget.

She couldn’t protect everyone. If she hadn’t been there, and didn't have Draco on the other side to relay her information, then they would be here, fighting for their lives.

But she had to know.

"You saw where the Nott Manor wards began. They were kilometres away from the home. They hadn’t always extended that way. It was done so that the muggleborn prisoners could be released into the grounds, try to find a way to survive, only to be hunted down by one of the participating Death Eaters. They wanted the ‘best scum England had to offer,’ so they handpicked their victims. Each Death Eater had to hunt down and capture the muggleborn they wanted outside so they could kill them in a controlled setting.”

Hermione opened her eyes. “Were you going to be playing?”

He was pale, more so than usual and Hermione could feel the residual guilt leaking into their bind. It hurt, a physical pang that was ebbing her closer to insanity. She wasn’t sure how he was living with it.

“Unfortunately by the time I was aware of it all the spots were filled.”

Hermione released a breath. She wanted to pull him in and thank him for his basic human decency because it was severely lacking among Death Eaters. It wasn’t news, but the levels they were willing to sink still astounded her.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me this last night?”

“The pressure I put on you was already extreme enough. I didn’t need to burden you anymore.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “You’d be surprised what I can handle.”

"Just because you  _ can  _ handle it doesn’t mean you need to. They got out before they made it to the Manor, all but you.”

Hermione’s shoulders slumped. “Whoever chose Esmelda was smart. She definitely wouldn’t have gone down without a fight.”

“Yes, she was a spitfire I heard. Yaxley picked her. His plans for her were as intricate as they were disgusting.”

“How did you manage to come along?”

Draco smirked, leaning back against the wall. “The snatcher that caught you might have a few extra broken bones, but I managed to convince him to let me take you in the competition.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. She took three steps in his direction and punched him in the arm.

“Ouch!” He cowered back against the wall. “That was rude!”

“And taking my lot in a fight to the Death wasn’t?”

“You aren’t fighting the other muggleborns, just me!”

“Well in that case let’s have a go!”

“You don’t get a wand, it would be a fast loss for you,” he said.

“I don’t need a wand, I have my fists.” She reached out and punched him in the opposite arm several times. 

“Ouch, ow, okay okay!” She continued to throttle him. “Okay, Hermione, okay!”

She stopped. He froze. The color drained from his face as a smirk fell on hers. 

“I wasn’t aware you knew my first name,” she said.

Draco crossed his arms. “Well I had heard Potter and Weasley whinging it around school so much I hadn’t really ever stood a chance.”

School. Hogwarts. “Why was Maeve here? And there was a girl no older than thirteen. She can’t have ever attended Hogwarts. I doubt she even knew she was magical long before her capture.”

Draco frowned. “Maeve was famous during our last year for sticking up for other muggleborns and taking their cruciatus curses for them. Apparently she had punched one of the Death Eaters in the face when he’d tried to shoot around her. He wanted revenge.”

“And the small girl?”

Draco shrugged. “I only looked at the profiles of those I thought could be useful towards your escape. I suppose I could find out.”

Hermione shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. They’re safe, as long as the Order was able to find them.”

“I checked with Potter. They made it. Some even volunteered themselves to fight.”

Hermione perked up at that. “Really?”

“Yeah, I guess your pet Maeve had a few words with them after they made it to the safehouse. Something about standing and fighting with the only person that made them feel worthy.”

Hermione’s eyes pricked with tears. She blinked them back, turning away towards the wall. Draco was polite enough to pretend he didn’t notice.

“What now? Will I be taken back to the dungeons until they can round up more victims? Or will you run me out to the yard and kill me?”

Draco shook his head. “That wouldn’t be fun for them to watch. They’re all about the chase. They want to watch several powerful muggleborns go down in one go.”

“Charming,” she said drily. “So when will we head back? Will I be able to escape on the way?”

Draco rubbed his hands up and down her shoulders. She shivered against his touch. “I’ll get you out, Granger. But if they’re a bit more cautious against your ability tonight, don’t be surprised. I doubt there will be an opening.”

Hermione stuck her nose in the air. “I’m more than capable of escaping my own prison, Draco, thank you very much.” Honestly, this was the twenty first century. A witch could save herself.

\---

“Well I suppose we should be off.” Dolohov turned to Draco. “You don’t need us all to return with you, eh my boy? Seeing as our lots are no longer present.”

Draco hid his annoyance at Dolohov’s slight well, but Hermione could feel it burning through their bind. Even those low in the Order knew that Dolohov wasn’t highly thought of among Death Eaters. 

“No worries at all, I think I can handle the Mudblood. And if she tries anything, well,” Draco shrugged, “I’ve been dying to try out those new curses the spell department crafted.”

The group broke out in raucous laughter. Hermione repressed a shiver. They were foul. This entire day left her longing for a shower.

After the initial excitement of the loss of the other muggleborns (which the other death eaters had sent a report back to Malfoy Manor to be dealt with, as none of them could be interrupted from their busy day of drinking), she had been dragged around the castle by Draco, while other Death Eaters gawked and made crude comments. She was quite literally put on display. She’d never hated herself more.

While the others were dumbfounded by the act of the muggleborns disappearing, they’d assumed one of them had snuck in a wand and had just been waiting for an opportunity to use it. Yaxley promised the young boy that strips prisoners of their belongings would be properly punished, and that the muggleborns would be captured again by next week. 

They weren’t dangerous. They were mudbloods that had gotten lucky.

“We’ll send the young lads with you, then. Hopefully you’ll get a chance to show them how it’s done.” Yaxley winked. Draco clapped him on the back.

Two boys stepped forward. They couldn’t have been older than fifteen. Hermione swallowed. They were still wearing their Slytherin robes from Hogwarts.

“Just returned from school earlier this afternoon for holiday. Can’t wait to show them the ropes.” Yaxley turned to the boys, towering over their pubescent forms. It served to emphasise the grey in his hair. To highlight the soft faces of the children. “Quite an honor for you to get to watch this particular wench be tortured. You’ve no idea the trouble she’s caused.”

The boys nodded. “A real man can always appreciate the torture of a mudblood.”

If Hermione didn’t have her Occlumency, she would have cried. She would have fallen to the ground, unable to stand for days.

This was the future people were hoping for. The future the children at Hogwarts were being taught and informed on.

Luckily for Hermione, she’d seen worse. And she could handle this. Just like she’d handled everything else she’d been faced with. These boys, they were mere faces. A dawning that hatred would never die unless it was unlearned and love was placed in the darkest recesses of their minds.

The possibility of that happening was abysmal. They hardly stood a chance in the world once the Order won. They were too young to be sent to Azkaban, assuming they hadn’t committed any heinous crimes, but old enough to let the hate fester and brew until it was all consuming. And they would pass their stories and their emotions onto their children. And so on. It was a never ending cycle.

They were out of the Manor Gates before Hermione had a chance to properly comprehend what was happening. They walked silently, Draco at her side with a grip on her forearm so tight she couldn’t feel her fingertips. The two boys flanked them on either side from behind. After about fifteen minutes or so, Draco drew his wand. 

For a moment Hermione feared he might follow through with his earlier threats to torture her, but before she could even combat that thought, he’d trained his wand on the boy to their right.

“ _ Obliviate,”  _ he whispered. Hermione gawked, watching as he quickly moved to the other boy, who stood still, unable to process what had happened. He repeated the spell before turning back toward Hermione and grabbing her arm. They apparated away.

“Draco, what are you—”

“If it was anyone else, they’d be dead,” he said, stashing his wand away. “But even I draw the line at murdering children.”

She looked around. They were at the Malfoy cabin, standing at the porch steps she loathed so much. Her head was spinning and she stumbled forward, grasping the railing like it was a lifeline.

“What did you do?”

He grabbed her gently by the arm and half carried her up the steps. 

“We’ll have a few hours before anyone thinks to look for us. A few more before they find the boys wandering around in the woods. Maybe another hour or two after that until they put it all together.”

“They’ll kill you,” she whispered, because it was all she was capable of. Draco had just blown everything. His cover, the Order, his life— all in the name of getting Hermione out of there.

She couldn’t breathe. Her legs shook violently underneath her, until Draco picked her up and carried her past the door frame. He sat her on the couch in the living room— the one he had sat on all those months ago. Over half a year. Half a year had passed since she first met with Draco Malfoy and now he was going to die.

“They’re going to kill you,” she said again because maybe he hadn’t heard her the first time. He didn’t respond. Maybe he didn’t realize.

“You would have been avada’d the moment your feet hit at Malfoy Manor,” he hissed. “You’re Hermione Granger. They thought you’d be dead by nightfall so they were willing to wait, but after an entire group just disappeared into thin air? Everyone knows you’re the brains of the Order. It might have been worth it to keep you alive to bait Potter a few years ago, but now? You’re better off dead.”

“So you just blew everything for the Order to save one life?”

His eyes were desperate. She sat up straight, leaning over him until she could read him directly.

“I can’t watch you die. If I had to shoot down every single Death Eater at the Manor to save you, I would have. I don’t care who saw.”

“Then why did you obliviate those boys?”

He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her in closer, until his nose was just a few inches from hers. His eyes fell to her lips.

“Because this way I have a few hours with you until I need to return for my death debut.”

Then his mouth was on hers, saying all the words he refused to. 

_ Let me have this. I’m sorry. I didn’t see another way. I need you now. Let me have you while I can. _

She gasped against him, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the want she felt blossoming inside her, or the sobs she was trying desperately to suppress. She felt the tears leak from her eyes, joining at their mouths and mixing with their tongues to create a salty haven that he wrapped her up in.

“Draco,” she broke away, placing her head on his chest. “You can’t die.” She glanced up at him, feeling smaller than she had in ages. “I don’t think I’ll survive without you.”

“I felt the same,” he said, fingering her curls. His voice was gentle and steady. How was he so calm? Her entire world felt ready to combust. “So I weighed my options, because either way one of us was dying today, and the other wasn’t going to be happy about it.”

He dragged her into his lap, nuzzling her neck for a moment before pulling back and meeting her eyes. 

“If you had died, then the Order would have lost what is perhaps their best asset, when it comes to battle, strategy  _ and  _ the ability to stay composed enough to keep up morale.” He placed a soft kiss at her pulsepoint and she shuddered. “Potter be damned, Granger, because without you there is  _ no  _ resistance.”

She took a sobering breath. “If you die we lose our double agent.”

“Granger,” he breathed against her neck, causing goosebumps to blossom, “I know about Severus. You’ll be just fine with what he provides.”

Hermione pulled away suddenly, stumbling to her feet. “How dare you say I’ll be just fine. You’ve gone and  _ once again  _ made a plan without consulting me,” she said. “And now you’re dying and you think I’m going to be okay?” She met his eyes and dropped her shields completely, letting all her anguish and pain and doubt rush into him because he had to  _ know.  _ He deserved to see how much of her stability he was responsible for, how much he held her up when she wanted to collapse.

“I can’t do this without you,” she said. And then he was in front of her, arms wrapped so tight around her waist she thought he might actually be able to keep the pieces from falling apart.

“You can, because you have to. When this is all over and we’ve won, I give you my permission to fall apart. You can be angry, you can hate me and miss me and spit on my grave, if I’m lucky enough to get one.” His thumb ran in soothing circles against her temple. She was sobbing into his shirt. “But until then, you drag me out to sea and attach me to a brick and sink me into the ocean of your mind. You build a sea wall so high that you can’t remember what’s behind it.”

She let out a moan of anguish and she felt his breath catch.

“But—” he cleared his throat and tried again. “Right now, we have each other. And I don’t want to waste another second fighting or being sad or even thinking about what happens after we leave this cabin.” He pulled back and looked at her. His eyes were dry, but his walls were down. He seemed at peace. “I just want you.”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to commit his face to memory. The way his eyes searched hers for approval, even though this was something she couldn’t change, couldn’t take back. There was stubble growing on his cheeks, as if he hadn’t shaved that morning. Hermione knew he shaved every day and wondered if his plan had caused him to forget.

She reached through their bind and felt overcome with love and happiness. She could see it in his eyes, in the memories he was throwing at her— bickering with her over parchment, taunting her for eating her vegetables with her hands, raising an eyebrow when she blocked a death curse aimed at him for the very first time. It was all there, all written out plainly for her to see. 

But saying it would ruin everything. If she said it now, it would be tainted with war and death and everything she always said she didn’t want love to consist of.

So she kissed him instead, conveying every drop of emotion that she could through the act. She gave and gave until he was pushing back too, grabbing what she was offering and handing over everything he had in turn. She let herself be guided against the wall that was shared with the fireplace. When her back hit the cool wood, she broke away and began kissing down his neck, a hot line that was fueled on by his small groans. She was harsh in her process, making sure to leave deep marks in a jagged line so that even in death everyone could know that he was Hermione’s— that she had been the last one that Draco Malfoy had turned to.

He relished the feeling, holding her head closer and angling his neck upward. She thrust her hips against his and moaned when he met her. He was hard.

He moved his hands from where they were tangled in her hair and slowly trailed them down her sides. The barely there motion had her aching and begging for more. She pushed her chest into his for any semblance of pressure. She licked from his collarbone to his jawline, meeting back up with his lips as his hands worked with the hemline of her dress— the same one she’d been wearing when she’d impersonated Daphne Greengrass. It was torn and dirty from the nights spent sleeping on the dungeon floor, but Draco didn’t seem to mind.

“I want you,” he whispered against her lips, one finger wrapping around the seams of her knickers. “I’ve known I wanted you since you sat on the rooftop and told me about your parents.” He pulled down and the fabric slid an inch down her thighs. She bucked against him, searching for any friction. His other hand came down and held her hips in place. “You were so glorious. You fell apart in front of me and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

“You could have had me at any time,” she whispered, and he groaned.

“Not true,” he said. “At least that’s not what you told me that night on the stairs.”

She looked him in the eyes while her hands snaked to his pants. “I lied,” she said simply.

“Not the right time,” he moaned with his eyes closed. Her knickers were now nearly past her knees and she shimmied them the rest of the way down while she unzipped his pants. “I wanted you, but I wanted to do right by you even more.”

“When?” she asked, grabbing his hard cock and pumping slowly. She relished in the way his stomach muscles contracted against the movement. They hadn’t bothered removing all their clothes, as if that was crossing a line she wasn’t ready to toe.

His head fell against her shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. “Didn’t— I didn’t have a well thought out plan.” His breathing increased and she stopped her movements. He hissed and thrust into her hand, but she didn’t give in.

“When?” she pressed.

“After the war,” he spit out, sighing when she continued at a slightly faster place. His hands, which had frozen after her escapades into his pants, now continued their slow ascent back up her thighs. “I wanted to prove to you I could be a better man than I had chosen.”

“You had nothing to prove to me.”

“To myself then.” 

And any thought she had was abruptly cut off as his fingers swiped through her. She moaned and bucked into his touch.

“So wet. Merlin, Hermione. You’re going to kill me before Tom ever has a chance.”

She didn’t respond, because it should have killed the mood, but she was in too deep now. She jerked his trousers down and brought him in even closer.

“I want you, Draco.”

He lined himself up. She could feel him hovering at her entrance. She cast her eyes up to see he was already staring at her. She pushed her hips forward.

“Say it again.” His tip teased her entrance. She clenched in anticipation. 

“I want you,” she said without hesitation because for the first time since the war had started she wasn’t afraid to feel. She didn’t care what it would be like when all this was over because she knew that being with Draco like this and losing him would be more powerful than not letting herself feel this in fear of mourning.

He pushed into her and she moaned, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. She peppered kisses onto his neck, feeling a twinge of regret that she was just now learning these sounds— learning the spots that made him moan or his breathing pick up— instead of giving him the last bit of perfect pleasure before he went and did the ultimate sacrifice.

“Perfect,” he said as she wrapped his legs around him. “This is better than anything I’ve ever wanted.”

He picked up his pace, letting his hand come down to play with her clit and she moaned and writhed under the sensation, letting her mind fall blank as their bind sang with relentless joy. She let it pull her closer and closer to Draco until they were chest to chest and the string was still taut. Every breath he released and moan and praise he gave out pulled it tighter and tighter until it snapped, and suddenly Hermione was falling, unable to do anything except hold onto Draco and say his name over and over, as if it was the only word left in her mind. As if he was her center of gravity.

“Hermione,” he said when she was aware again. And then he said it again and again until his thrusts became jerky and unstable and he came in her with a scream of her name. Her given name, something she’d not heard fall from his lips before today.

Her eyes snapped open.

Draco Malfoy had called her Hermione.

He was whispering the sweetest words to her, running his fingers through her hair and caressing her in all the ways she liked. But she couldn’t focus on it.

Because  _ Draco Malfoy  _ had dropped his prejudices, fucked her and called her  _ Hermione.  _

Draco Malfoy was going to turn himself in and die for Hermione Granger.

She dropped her legs to the ground and pushed him back a few inches.

“Do you have my wand?”

His brow furrowed, but he reached down and pulled it out of his robe pockets that littered the floor.

“Thank you,” she said, zipping up her pants. 

“Granger I—”

“Stop.” She held her hands up. “I don’t want to hear it. You saved my life and then you fucked me right before you plan on turning yourself in to die.” He opened his mouth but she spoke over him. “But you still have a few hours, right?”

Draco gawked at her, but then checked his watch. “Most likely, yes.”

“Great,” she said, walking backwards towards the front door and those dreadful porch stairs. “Because I love you, Draco.”

His jaw dropped. 

“I love you and I’m going to save your life.”

She apparated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am NOT an emotional person. But I was near tears while I wrote the second half. Draco is such a self sacrificing guy and it just shows that his intentions, no matter how poorly thought out, have always had Hermione's best interest at heart.  
> Don't fret, friends. I'm posting the next chapter asap.  
> Hope you enjoyed the smut. I'm still adjusting to writing it.


	28. Final Battle

The moment Hermione was gone Draco attempted to follow her. When he spun to apparate, he wasn’t able to.

_ Damn it, how was she able to throw up an anti-apparition ward so quickly? _

He stood still for only a moment, dragging his fingers through his knotted hair, wishing they were still Hermione’s.

Then he was moving, dashing out of the door and out into the woods. If he wasn’t able to apparate to Grimmauld he would run. Anything. Anything to stop her from doing this.

Because he knew what she was planning. 

\---

Hermione landed with a thud onto the rooftop. The world hadn’t even come into focus before she was sprinting down the steps and into Harry’s room.

When she entered, he was on the bed with Luna. Their heads were tilted towards each other and she could tell they had been whispering, discussing something important. At another time, she would have felt bad for intruding. 

Not now, though.

“It’s time,” she said.

Harry snapped his head up. Luna stood and then froze.

“Draco’s going to blow it, Harry.” She walked towards him and she couldn’t imagine how it looked. Her voice was edging on desperate and her breathing was erratic. She hadn’t bothered to smooth down her hair that had just housed Draco’s fingers. She could feel a love bite throbbing at the base of her neck. 

And none of this took into consideration that she hadn’t yet returned from her undercover rescue mission. She knew the prisoners had made it out, the Order knew she wasn’t able to go with them. For all they knew she was still in the dungeons at Malfoy Manor. 

“He got me out,” she began before Harry could even open his mouth. “He got me out in the stupidest way and now he’s trying to use himself as a sacrifice and it  _ can’t  _ happen.” She was just inches away from him now, and she could feel her Occlumency fumbling. There were waves a hundred feet tall smashing against her walls with the force of everything she’d ever buried threatening to rise up. She felt the tears rise in her eyes. Her throat clicked with her held back sobs.

“Please,” she said. “Please look at Luna and tell me you wouldn’t be asking the same thing.”

Harry’s eyes stayed glued on hers for a moment. She could feel the answer echoing in the room before she’d said that. There were a million reasons why now wasn’t the time for the Final Battle.

Because that’s what she was asking. She wanted to have a face off with Voldemort and the Death Eaters in order to save Draco’s life. 

It was the only option. Kidnapping Draco would just lead Voldemort right to them because of the trace on the Dark Mark, and after the stunt Draco had pulled there was nothing else that could be done. 

They weren’t prepared. A few hours notice wasn’t enough time to properly line up a battle plan. Even if they’d had one set up for weeks. There were people out on missions, injured and just straight up not mentally ready. It was such an essential part of being on the battlefield that Moody and Kingsley screened each person before they headed out. An unprepared mind was just cause for error and therefore more deaths they couldn’t afford. 

But Harry couldn’t say no. If he said yes to her, then everyone else would fall in line. They would summon home everyone off base and they would draw up their best plan and they’d be off within the hour. 

His eyes remained on her and she could feel his resolve cracking. She just needed to push a little harder.

“Tell me if you knew Luna wasn’t about to die you wouldn’t do everything in your power to prevent that.” Her voice was steady now. She needed to be calm and rational. Draco was relying on her for this. She could do anything if it was for Draco.

She heard his breathing stutter before his head shifted to glance at Luna. Hermione looked behind her.

Luna was standing by the door with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked so small. Hermione always forgot about Luna’s size because her presence was so warm and comforting, like a giant blanket you cocooned yourself in after a long day in the snow. 

She was looking at the pair of them with a strange sadness in her eyes, but there was a small smile gracing her lips. It all felt so real then, as if Luna was saying it all without speaking.

People would die tonight. Perhaps one of them. Perhaps all three of them. Perhaps every single person in the Order would perish because Hermione couldn’t take any more losses. Luna was taking in the last moment before everything broke into chaos.

Because they would do it. All of them. Every single person here would die for the Order, just as Draco had said that night in his bedroom. They had something to fight for and they didn’t need a two week notice to prepare for it.

They just needed a reason. Hermione had given the ultimate one. 

"Love started this,” Harry whispered. “It all began because my mum and dad loved me enough to save me.” He turned to look at Hermione before dragging her into a tight embrace. “It’s only fitting that we end this on the same note.”

\---

“Neville, have you got the sword?”

“And the hat, just in case.”

“Right.” Hermione turned towards Ginny. “You’re sure Theo is going to be here?”

Ginny nodded. “He knows to come. He’s trying to convince the pack leader to fight with us. I’m not sure if it’ll work, but he thinks he convinced some betas to join in.”

Blaise raised his eyebrows. “He does realize if he’s the one to break wolves off from their pack then he becomes their Alpha?”

“Are you implying Theo isn’t capable of being an Alpha?” Ginny raised her chin.

“Just pointing out that now you’ll always have pups running around.”

They were all standing on the roof, War rooms and battle plans be damned. They had drawn up a rough idea of how the Final Battle would happen, and while things weren’t going to be exactly the same as they had wanted, it was broad enough that they wouldn’t be going in blind. 

There were hundreds of Order members gracing the enlarged roof. From the corner, Hermione spied Maeve and Esmelda and a few others. They were still dressed in their dungeon clothes. She nodded at them. They smiled back. Some of the others Hermione had never met before. The Order spanned far and large enough now to cover several safe houses and only the highest up of members ever stepped foot onto Grimmauld. The majority of them looked so painfully young and full of cheer.

Now they were all here. Harry had wasted no time in informing Moody and Kingsley that tonight was the night. They had argued for only ten minutes before Moody threw an arm full of documents into the fireplace. He’d stood still for a moment before turning and asking Kingsley why he was standing around and not summoning the other fighters.

An hour had passed since then. They were preparing to apparate to Malfoy Manor. Wards would prevent them from actually getting inside, but Voldemort wouldn’t stand idly by while Harry Potter stood outside the gates. It would be finished tonight. Everyone could feel it and there was an odd mix of excitement and apprehension in the air.

Now there was only one thing left to do before they left. She lifted the apparition ward she had placed on Malfoy.

He appeared immediately by her side. His eyes were wild when they set on her. His expression wavered between anger and relief and in the end he pulled her into a tight hug.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” he said as he buried his face in her hair. “How can you be so, so dumb?”

“Shut the fuck up,” she said. “I didn’t let you here to argue.” Hermione pulled back. “Are you going to fight or not?”

Draco’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth, then closed it. A strangled laugh escaped his throat.    


“You declare war on my behalf and you think I’m  _ not  _ going to fight?”

She shrugged. “I don’t need to babysit you anymore.”

Then his lips were on hers and she could feel the eyes of her friends on them. She heard a shocked gasp from her left. A squeal of excitement to her right. Seamus asked Blaise for five galleons. 

“Everyone say your final pieces,” Moody boomed out. “We’re leaving in five minutes and there’ll be no time for conversation after that.”

She was encircled by all her closest friends suddenly. Theo had popped up and she hadn’t even noticed. He was bruised and his clothes were tattered, but he looked more alive than she’d seen in months. Ginny was hanging off his left arm and Luna had her arms wrapped around his waist. Harry stood next to her, looking pale but his head was high. 

Ron was there too, and though she knew they still had things to talk about he took her hand and squeezed it gently. When she looked in his eyes she knew they could survive it. The war had taken enough from them. They wouldn’t let it have this. She thought of warm summer nights at the Burrow and awkward stilted conversation that bloomed into a true and real connection that she never wanted to lose. She never wanted a relationship with Ron during the war because he was the last source of joy when she looked back. Harry was tainted, he always had been from the moment he’d appeared in the girl’s bathroom to save her from the troll. 

She looked toward him now. He was laughing and it was the most incredible thing; how Harry could stare death in the face and still find the joy in those that surrounded him. He was so wrapped up in all of this and he could have fed into it and become bitter and hateful towards everything that had happened to him. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t enjoyed a single second of being the epicenter of this tragedy.

But here he was, surrounded by people who had always had faith in him, and those who he had sworn would be lifelong enemies. It didn’t matter to him. He held no grudges. And when this was all over, Hermione knew he would take no joy in the trials of the Death Eaters. He would always look for the good in others. 

Pansy appeared at her side suddenly. 

“I—” she paused, took a deep breath and tried again. “I just wanted to let you know that I will never earn your forgiveness for this war that I was once on the other side of. Because I hated you. I really, really did. I thought you were below me for the exact reasons that I’m fighting against now. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand why I had to wait until things got too scary on the other side for me to see that I was raised on lies and told things that aren’t true. But I’m standing here saying this to you now not because I want you to make me feel better, but because I’ve always planned on saying this to you, after everything was said and done. But now I know we might not live and I can’t die without telling you this.” 

Pansy raised her head and Hermione could see tears in her eyes. “You’re a magnificent witch, Hermione. Frightening, even. You don’t deserve to be here or to have experienced anything that you did to get here. I’m sorry I was a part of that.”

And then she was walking away. Hermione tried to chase after her, but then Moody was giving a one minute warning and Draco tugged lightly on her arm.

“I’m not going to stand here and defame myself by saying I’m not worthy of you because the path I chose, no matter how true that might be. I won’t insult your intelligence. If you didn’t forgive me or want me, I wouldn’t be here right now.” Draco raised his eyes as his hand came up to caress her cheek. Hermione leaned into it.

“You are without a doubt the best thing that has ever, or will ever happen to me in this life. I meant it today when I said I weighed the options of who should have died, and you are infinitely more important to me.” He leaned into her ear to whisper. “But Granger, the fact that you did all this to save me is mind numbingly hot. When we get back and our injuries are healed, I intend to fuck you into oblivion.”

And then the whistle went off and apparitions filled the air. Hermione turned on the spot, hardly aware that Draco was still on her elbow.

\---

They landed a ways away from the Manor. Hermione was at the front of the pack with Harry. In the distance she could hear the sounds of paws crunching on leaves. 

“If I go through the gates first, I can drop the wards.”

Hermione raised her brows. “You can do that?”

“Only a Malfoy can.” He pointed to himself. “I am a Malfoy.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Right, like you’d ever let me forget that.”

“Once the wards are dropped you’ll be able to head in with no warning. It’ll give us a head start, at least.”

“Can you tip us off where the snake might be?”

“By Tom. Always right by him. But he’ll probably hide it high in the house with a few Death Eaters he trusts.”

Harry nodded. “The snake dies first, or all of this is for nothing.”

Hermione reached into her endless bag and pulled out Basilisk fangs. She began handing them out.

“Neville has the sword, since he was the one who pulled it from the hat and it never disappeared, but these should work just fine for anyone else. See the snake, kill him with this. Got it?”

Everyone nodded, and the gates of Malfoy Manor loomed suddenly in front of them. The group stopped moving forward, isntead moving to take their positions. Luna. Harry, Pansy and Neville moved towards the middle of the pack. The A Team moved towards the front. Except Draco. He stepped forward, inside the gate and drew his wand. After a moment of silent incantations, he nodded.

They walked forward. 

It was silent while they moved towards the castle. To Hermione’s surprise, the wards were actually gone. No one burst into flames and no alarms were signaled. It was eerily quiet. 

Hermione aimed her wand at the window just above the looming doors of the Manor. Draco raised his as well.

“Sorry about setting your childhood home on fire,” she whispered. “It’s the only plan we could think of.”

Draco shrugged. “Perhaps its symbolism isn’t something I should ignore.”

And then the flames ripped from their wands. Hermione tried to ignore the screams of the people inside. Evil or not, fire sprouting from every exit was an awful thing to wake up to, and even worse when she thought that these might very well be the last sounds they ever made. They would die, terrified and confused; the same way Hermione had felt for the past six years. 

After the initial spell, Draco and Hermione pushed forward into the flames. They had given themselves minor protection spells, but that didn’t stop the flames that licked up her calves and bit at her elbows from leaving painful marks. She wished it didn’t have to be this way, but some injuries were unavoidable and planned.

She turned and shot up a shield in front of Draco just moments before a flash of orange hit it. An older Death Eater dressed in night robes looked on with a confused expression before Draco’s line of green shot him dead.

It was still for a moment, as the other dozens of Death Eaters attempted to put the pieces together. Then the room exploded with noise and magic as the other Order members burst through. 

Hermione could hardly keep track of who the enemy was. The only thing she was truly sure was that Draco was by her side and they were dueling with an efficiency she didn’t know was possible. She was covering his six, shooting down any person that fired a spell at Draco. She didn’t bother worrying about herself because she  _ knew  _ Draco was there. 

They made their way upstairs and continued to tear down people. Hermione lost count and she knew she wouldn’t forgive herself for her ruthlessness because she would never unlearn it. She would never be able to sensitize herself properly after this, because taking someone’s life warped herself into someone she knew Hermione of ten years ago would hate. The closer the end of the war came, the sooner she’d have to deal with that. 

It was these crazy thoughts that were flying through her head as they ripped up the stairs, searching for any sign of Nagini, hoping that with each door they threw open they’d be one step closer to ending the fighting.

When they reached the last door on the third floor, they found themselves eye to eye with Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione could hear wolves howling downstairs. She thought of Theo and his hateful dad, how he’d grown apart from that part of his life and managed to convince a pack of three hundred werewolves to fight for the Light. 

Even with Narcissa’s wand pressed to her chest, Hermione felt none of the fear she had around Sr. Nott. Her eyes flickered from Hermione’s face to Draco’s. Her wrist twitched. Hermione remained still.

Behind her, Nagini hissed. Lucius Malfoy was beside her, back facing them.

“Cissy what is—”

Draco was still behind her. He let them work it through themselves. Narcissa’s expression hadn’t changed, but Hermione knew she understood. Lucius tightened his jaw as it dawned on him.

Behind them, Pansy and Neville piled in the room. Draco eyed them for a moment before slamming the door with a flick of his wand.

“Incredible,” Lucius began, sauntering towards the center of the room and standing directly in the path of Nagini, “we were given the utmost assurance by Dolohov that no one would be able to get past his defenses up here, yet here a band of children stand before me.”

“Pans, you and Neville stun my mother.”

Beside Hermione, Pansy nodded, but she could see the fear in her eyes. 

Narcissa’s wand prodded Hermione’s chest with a force that caused Hermione to take a step back. She looked towards Draco.

“How could you?” she asked. “My own son—” she broke off and Hermione realized with horror that she’d been about to cry. 

“I’m not here for your lesson in how to guilt your son, mother.” Draco jutted his chin towards his father. “We’re here to kill the snake, that’s all.”

“And if we try and stop you?” she asked. “Will you kill us as well?”

Draco hesitated only a beat. “Yes.”

Narcissa’s eyes raked him from top to bottom. Even faced with death she was elegant and poised, not a single hair was out of place. 

“Lucius, our son will kill us,” Narcissa stated conversationally. 

Lucius appeared behind his wife with an amused look on his face.

“Our boy has found something worth killing for.”

“And dying,” Draco said.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “And dying,” he repeated. He eyed Draco for a moment and his face was completely unreadable. Not like he was attempting to cover his emotions with Occlumency, but it was an expression Hermione had never seen on his face before. 

Lucius placed a hand on Narcissa’s shoulder and pulled her to the side. She dropped her wand. 

And Hermione realized Lucius Malfoy was staring at his son with a look of respect.

“I’ll not give you the psychological trauma of killing your own parents,” Lucius stated. He gestured to the snake. “Besides, Nagini can handle herself.”

Pansy and Neville shoved forward. Neville had the sword in his hands. Hermione moved forward to assist, but Lucius blocked her path.

“My son,” he started. “He will not face any charges in the new world?”

Hermione shook her head. “He has been faithful to the Order.”

Behind her, Hermione heard a thump as Pansy hit the wall. When she tried to get to her, she was blocked once again, this time by Narcissa.

“The girl is fine.”

“You are Voldemort’s most loyal followers. Why are you helping us?” Behind her, Pansy still hadn’t gotten up.

“I love my son,” Narcissa said, folding her arms across her chest. “Say whatever you’d like about me and my husband, Miss Granger, but everything I do I do because I love him. Draco has chosen his path. I will not fight with him on it.”

Over their heads, Hermione watched as the sword blazed to life, in an instant, Nagini’s head fell to the ground. Hermione let out a breath. Neville had done it.

Hermione and Draco turned to race out of the door, but Narcissa’s voice stopped her.

"You’ll take care of my son, won’t you?”

Hermione stood for a moment before Draco tugged on her elbow.

“Your son can take care of himself, Mrs. Malfoy.” 

And then she was being dragged down the stairs where she was once again forced to block spells. They were coming so much faster now, and though nothing hit her directly she could feel herself getting knicked and sliced by badly aimed hexes. Her legs were oozing where her burn blisters had burst. By the time they reached the fourth floor stairwell Hermione’s head was bleeding at a dangerous rate, Draco’s right arm was broken and Neville was carrying Pansy’s unconscious body. She hadn’t risen off the floor from Nagini’s attack. Neville had no one to cover him which meant Draco and Hermione had taken to it.

On the second floor there were much less Death Eaters around and Hermione hardly let herself believe it. When their feet hit onto the marble of the first floor and she could hear Fred's loud whoops and the howls of werewolves she almost began crying.

Because out on the lawn she could see Harry standing, breathing and alive and in a tight embrace by Ginny.

Her legs gave out. She prepared herself for the hard concrete, but found her waist wrapped in a warm pair of arms.

“I’ve got you,” Draco whispered in her ear. She was sobbing, she realized. She couldn’t hear anything besides the roaring in her ears and the sound of Draco’s affirmations.

“I’ll cover you, Granger. From here on out, I’ve got you.”

And she turned into his shoulder and cried, hugging him tightly and watching as the Death Eaters that weren’t smart enough to apparate away were taken in heavy chains. She hated herself for the joy she felt at the sight.

Draco’s lips were at her temples and she let the emotions wash over her, because it was time now.

They had won the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing the final battle from any viewpoint besides Harry is Not Easy, becasue he's like... kinda the only super omportant one. I tried to mimick the Battle of Hogwarts from the books, with everyone else searching for the snake, but Neville killing the snake is still a must. Lucius and Narcissa are included because they're high enough to be trusted with this task (and also for the drama). I wanted to mirror Narcissa's willingness to sacrifice herself (and the Dark Lord) from the DH for Draco. I truly believe she'd do anything if it meant his safety.  
> I hate battle scenes. They're not fun and I write solely for joy. I did my best, I'm not taking criticism and I'm happy with how it turned out.


	29. Aftermath

In the wake of the battle Hermione found herself sequestered to her room for healing. The infirmary was inundated with more serious injuries, as were the living rooms and kitchens. Anyone who wasn’t on the verge of dying was not to interrupt the healing process. Meals were sent to her rooms. She wasn’t allowed to leave her room until certain hours.

Draco sat by her side faithfully. After the first night of sharing her bed with him she couldn’t understand how she had fought the urge to do so for so long. She was sore and exhausted and somehow he knew just what to do to ensure she rested. When her nightmares jumped her awake, he was always there to soothe her until the feelings passed.

Her Occlumency had been failing her since the final battle. She knew she had overused it, knew that her mind had only held on because it was in pure survival mode, but now that the war was officially over, it was taking a sabbatical and forcing her to face everything she’d been putting off and hiding for all these years.

It was awful, but in the weeks following the battle there wasn’t much else to do  _ besides  _ face her demons. So she tried to do it, with some grace.

Many people had died during the final battle. So many that they had decided on having a group funeral for the other members to attend, and family’s could decide if they wanted to do something more intimate.

Justin Finch-Fletchley had perished brutally in battle. As had Susan Bones. Dennis Creevey and Ernie Macmillan and so many more that Hermione hadn’t even known. She watched as their bodies were levitated off the burnt Manor grass and she asked Kingsley all of their names and ages. A lot of them were barely legal. Most of them were below the age of thirty.

She thought about their families, about their parents and their children and how she wanted to remember each and every one of them so she could give them the respect they deserved. Because she lived. She lived and she wasn’t sure it was fair. They’d all fought, and some of them had been there since their DA days and they  _ still  _ died. They made it through everything else just to lose their lives in the last moments before freedom. Hermione was having a hard time wrapping her head around that.

Pansy was in the hospital ward, and though they weren’t allowed to visit her while she was there, Neville assured them she was going to recover.

“The snake venom would have killed her, but I guess when I chopped its head off the venom vanished from her system…” He touched the back of his neck and averted his eyes.

Hermione put her hand over his. He was sitting beside her on her bed, having snuck out from his room. She imagined it was lonely without Pansy in there and he was hardly allowed to visit her himself.

“I know what it’s like to think your partner is going to die. But you saved her.”

He’d nodded, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough until Pansy was awake and healthy and back in his arms.

\---

The moment she was cleared to be released from her room, she had run out of the front door. She didn’t know where she was going, but she’d stopped when she reached muggle London. The sun was setting and the pink and orange hues in the sky reminded her how painful beauty could be.

Draco hadn’t been cleared to leave yet. He was under investigation through the Ministry despite the claims from the Order that he had been a valuable asset and Voldemort would still be at large without him. But the Order— despite being the only stable entity during Voldemort’s reign— wasn’t the Ministry, and didn’t get final say. Kingsley— after Hermione had gotten into a screaming match with the temporary appointed Minister of Magic (someone so irrelevant she couldn’t remember his name)— assured her that he would get it all sorted and Draco wouldn’t step a toe in Azkaban.

So she was alone, for now. She could have taken Harry or Ginny or Theo or Luna with her, but as she stepped into the tattoo shop, she knew this was something she had to do herself.

She thought about the permanent slurs she had branded on her, and for a moment she even considered covering them all up. Muggle ink wouldn’t cover the tattoos like a glamour, but they would provide a distraction. That’s what she needed right now.

With a rather talented artist that asked very few questions, she was able to draw up a replica of her original wand that was draped in flowers. She placed the length of the wand by her original  _ mudblood  _ scar on her wrist and the flowers wrapped around on the other side of it, hugging the scar between the two sides of her chosen beauty. She chose to keep the ink all black because she wasn’t ready for vibrant colors. When she left the shop, forearm tingling slightly, she looked up to the midnight night sky and smiled.

\---

She didn’t go back to Grimmauld. Instead she found herself getting an emergency Portkey. It wasn’t hard, not when you were a war heroine. Apparently, despite the fact that three weeks ago she was muggleborn trash, she was now almost synonymous with a Goddess.

When she touched down in Australia, she didn’t search for her parents. Not immediately, at least. Somehow she had managed to convince herself that she wasn’t there for them. She’d just needed to get away and Australia was the first place that had come to mind.

It was Draco, who she had spoken with intermittently since fleeing, that convinced her.

Their bind connection was stronger than ever. He knew the moment she left the country and also feigned ignorance when she’d insisted why. It wasn’t until she’d been there for a few weeks that he even brought them up.

And she vehemently told him to back off. So naturally, he pushed the subject until she was screaming at him through the floo call, spitting and hissing and pulling at her own hair until she threw a glass of water into the fireplace. 

The next day she visited their flower shop. 

“Is there anything I can help you with, dear?”

She turned and saw her mom, older and more grey but still just as lovely as she remembered. 

“No,” Hermione choked back. “Just looking for something that reminded me of home.”

Her parents helped her pick out a lovely bouquet full of lillies and roses that that made her optimistic for the future. She left the shop, waving goodbye to her kay connections to the muggle world for the last time, feeling broken and hopeful all at the same time.

She returned to Grimmauld that night, collapsing into Draco’s sleeping arms. She sobbed and sobbed and sometimes she felt other people come in and wrap their arms around her, but mostly she was aware of Draco’s steady and warm body holding hers up.

When she lifted her head hours later, her eyes were dry and she walked into the living room on strong legs. It had been weeks since the final battle at this point. The infirmary was nearly empty. She had missed New Years. February was nearly halfway over.

She sat in the living room with her other broken friends. She drank and drank until the feelings dulled a bit and Draco had to carry her upstairs. While she was bent over the toilet vomiting and Draco sat behind her holding her hair back, she felt anger that she’d given up her teenage years to a war when her primary school friends back home had already experienced this. When she was washing out her mouth, she slammed the sink off with so much force that the pipe broke.

\---

She had never been a fan of brooms. 

About two months after the Final Battle, Hermione brought up a quidditch match.

The boys jabbed elbows at her and mimicked her stance during games, pulling out books from random shelves and pulling annoyed faces.

“I promised Oliver,” she’d whispered. 

It was silent for a moment. Oliver had been the first and last time she’d shut down. Since the end of the war it seemed to be all she was capable of doing. 

Suddenly everyone sprang into action and before Hermione could blink she was on the front of a broom with Draco supporting her from behind. She flew in fear for the first ten minutes or so, but then she noticed the way Draco’s body was more relaxed than it had been since she’d met him on those porch steps. She felt the wind blowing her hair and she opened her eyes to see a beautiful landscape covered in snow. The sky was covered in dreary grey clouds and all trees stood with their bare branches sticking out. It was dead and barren and it felt like home, for a moment. 

When they landed, Hermione saw a tiny piece of green grass peeking up from the dregs of snow.

She smiled. Perhaps color could be beautiful, as well.

\---

She flew around like a fool during the quidditch match and she spent the whole time biting back tears. She didn’t cry because Oliver would have hated that and she had spent enough time crying over people who would have just wanted to see her happy.

So she grabbed the quaffle and they let her score a pity goal. The taste was bitter in her mouth but she savored it all the same. It was okay for good things to be hard, she realized.

\---

She was in her bed kissing Draco ferociously. 

They hadn’t had sex since the night before the battle. At first they were too exhausted, and then Hermione was absent, and upon her return she was too broken.

She had tried. Draco kept insisting she wouldn’t use him as a distraction to her problems.

But three months had passed since the end of the war, and things weren’t perfect but they were better. She was facing her emotional trauma head on and things were moving in the right direction.

So she slid her hand down to the buckle of his pants and she sighed in victory when he thrust into it.

She undid the belt quickly and Draco made quick work of her shirt.

“I love you,” she said. She’d been saying it over and over for weeks; everytime he caught her when she was a mess. She wanted to apologize but she was so tired of being sorry. So she told him what she actually meant.

_ Thank you for being here. I’ve needed you and I’ve made mistakes and you’re still here. _

She sent it through their bind and he moaned in return, kissing down her neck and then licking from collarbone all the way up to her jawline. She keened, wondering how he had convinced her for so long to not  _ do this  _ when it was clearly the most healing thing she could do.

“This isn’t emotional healing,” he said, hands moving to her pants as she pumped him slowly.

“Tell that to your cock.”

“Oh, Hermione.” She watched as he closed his eyes and laid back on the bed. “That doesn't make sense but the word cock on your tongue just sounds so right.”

“Cock,” she whispered as she sank down on him. He groaned.

She started off with a slow pace. She dragged her hips forward, reveling in the feel of his thighs below her. When she looked down, his eyes were glued on hers. She felt invincible, like the most powerful woman in the world when he looked at her like that. She could ask the most absurd thing in the world right now and he’d say yes.

“As long as you don’t stop.”

Hermione held her hips still and grinned when Draco’s brow furrowed in frustration. But then his hand snaked down from where they had rested on her hips and suddenly he was rubbing achingly slow against her clit. Her head fell back and her mouth fell open. She repressed her moan because she hadn’t silenced the room. Her hips began moving without her permission and she could feel the slick wetness that had built up adding the most delicious friction.

“So perfect,” he moaned, sitting up and pressing her front into his. He pulled her into a kiss and the heat spread from his mouth all the way down to her toes. She clawed at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. They could be sewn together and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

When she came, she clung to him in every way she knew possible. She clenched her thighs around his hips, she stuck her tongue into his mouth and her hands wrapped around his shoulders. She had the strange urge to cry when it was all done, as if she had just released a great bit of emotion she didn’t know she was holding onto.

“I love you,” she said because she wasn’t sure she would ever tire of it.

“I’m yours. I’m yours and you could still ask me for anything for you and I’d do it.”

\---

“Ron, can we talk?”

It was April now, and though snow still littered the ground sparsely, Hermione could feel herself warming back into a normal human that consisted of more than a war torn past. She and Ron had spent the past few months pretending like the incident with Fred had never happened, but that wasn’t how she wanted to leave things. Her memories with Fred were cherished and Ron deserved more of an explanation than what he’d received that night.

“Sure, Mione.” Ron smiled and her heart clenched.

“It’s about Fred.”

“I figured.” His smile didn’t falter but she swore his eyes darkened.

“I just wanted to explain—”

“Hermione, you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Fred and I— oh, what?” She watched as Ron rose from his bed and walked up to her in the doorway. She didn’t fight him or ask any questions as he tugged her from the room and up the stairs to the roof. It was no longer magically enlarged and Hermione hated it, for some reason. It felt like erasure of everything that had happened. When they reached the edge, Ron took a seat, throwing his legs over the side and Hermione followed. 

“I did a lot of thinking after you left. I was hurt because of what we’d talked about after the Battle of Hogwarts, but I didn’t have a right to be as angry as I was. We weren’t together, and after five years of waiting and watching you turn from the Hermione of Hogwarts days to the amazing woman you are now, I think we went in opposite directions. Not in a bad way, mind you.” He slung his arm around her shoulders and the gesture felt foreign, but warm all the same. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time they had hung out casually like this.

“I just know that what we thought we could have had is better left in the past. What we have now is much more important to me and after the war I don’t think I can handle wondering about any other what-if scenarios. So I’m just gonna move forward. With you, I hope.”

Hermione’s eyes watered and she hated how hard it was to control her emotions. For the first time since the Final Battle, she felt an Occlumency wall attempt to click into place. With less force than she would have thought necessary, she lowered it. Because this was Ron and things with Ron had always been full of emotion and she didn’t want to change that now. So she wrapped her arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder, for the girl that she was that loved the boy that he was. Because she missed them and they deserved better than what they went through. 

But they were here. They were here and alive and against all odds she was still able to smile and Ron didn’t hate her.

\---

“How long do you think you’ll all stay here?”

“Geez, Hermione, no need to kick us out,” Dean chuckled.

It was five months after the war and no one had moved out of Grimmauld yet. All memorials had been completed the week before and Kingsley had been named Minister for Magic the day prior. It seemed like the chapter on war was truly closing. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“I just mean that there’s no reason for us to all be here, right? We could all move into our own flats and just really move forward.” The room was silent and she knew why. 

“Are we never going to discuss the binds?”

No one had mentioned them. During the war, it was different. They were in their own little bubble where  _ everyone  _ was either bound or at least knew about them intimately. They saw how it treated them during a duel and they turned their heads when a bound pair did something that would normally be considered odd.

But the outside world didn’t know about the binds. It was one of the documents the Order Council had agreed to burn. If the Ministry got their hands on something like that, there was no telling what they’d do with it. The Bind Spell had been born out of desperation and it was better off forgotten. It was a unanimous decision.

But now those who were bound would have to face the light of day. They were all War Heroes, and any time they stepped foot outside they were bombarded with press and cameras. They were under a microscope and any weird behavior would be noted immediately.

Skeeter had already pointed out how much time Harry spent with Luna. They were rumoured to be dating behind Ginny’s back. It wasn’t true and Ginny didn’t seem at all bothered by it, but that wasn’t really the point.

Someone was going to notice. They’d already taken into account Theo’s mysterious absences on full moon nights, when he went to be with his pack in the woods. They would find out all they wanted to know eventually, but was Hermione ready?”

“We’re war torn children, Granger,” Blaise said, throwing his arm over Seamuses shoulder. Finnegan froze for only a moment before settling into his side more comfortably. Hermione wanted to laugh at the stilted motion. It looked all too familiar. “Anything they find odd about our behavior we can just contribute to the state of our mental well-being.”

“And it’s not really a lie,” Ginny pointed out. She was sandwiched between Harry and Theo, with Luna propped up on Theo’s lap and her feet thrown over Ginny’s legs. Her face was covered in even more freckles than usual because she’d been spending so much time on her broom in the spring sun. “The bind definitely affects our mental state. And we  _ are  _ war torn.”

“Yeah, I’d really love to see you playing up the victim role,” Ron murmured to Harry. Ginny slapped his arm when he began to chuckle.

“I can act like a sad sap if need be!”

The whole group was silent. Pansy was the first to let out a laugh, and after that the rest of them seemed unable to hold back. 

They laughed and laughed until Ginny joined in as well. It was one of the most therapeutic moments Hermione had experienced in her five months of healing.

Suddenly hiding their weird bind tendencies didn’t seem so worrying, and neither did moving out. She sat with her closest group of friends and soaked up the feeling of being alive, and loving every moment of it.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Healing isn't linear.  
> One chapter left!!


	30. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm emotional. Enjoy the end of this.  
> This song was written and heavily inspired by the way Mausoleum by Seryn makes me feel. I suggest listening to it on repreat while you read this. At least the last half.

Epilogue: One year later

“Draco, we’re going to be late!” Hermione fumbled through her bottomless bag to ensure she had everything. Her dress was on, her hair done and her make up was complete.

“Granger, we’re  _ in  _ the wedding. They aren’t starting without us.”

“It’s not our wedding, they’re allowed to start whenever they like.”

“You’ve spent all day with the brides, I’ve been with Theo and Potter since last night. I think they’ll have their heads on straight enough to realize we’re missing and wait.”

Ginny and Harry, along with Theo and Luna, wrapped up in their converging bind partners, had decided to have a joint wedding. Harry and Ginny would be marrying each other beside Theo and Luna. It was odd, and the press was having a field day with it, but it just  _ felt  _ right. Everyone had moved out of Grimmauld place about six months ago, but Theo and Luna had stayed. It didn’t seem weird to Hermione, though when she said it out loud she realized how unconventional it was.

“Theo and Luna get the top three floors and Ginny and I get the bottom three. Everything in between is up for grabs and the living room is fair game,” Harry had told her. Hermione hadn’t bothered with it. No one else was moving away from their bound partner and Harry didn’t need to justify it to her. 

They were the first to get married out of all the group. Neville and Pansy were engaged and Blaise and Seamus had taken several vacations together, mostly just to get the press wondering about their “secret relationship” as neither one of them was inclined to confirm one way or the other. 

“Let’s just go, shall we?” She walked across their living room, heels clicking loudly against the wood, and stopped in front of Draco. “Your tie is crooked,” she admonished, reaching out to fix it.

“If you hadn’t just fucked me against the door jam I think we wouldn’t need to worry about it.”

Hermione shrugged. “Not a single hair on  _ my  _ head moved, so it sounds like a personal issue.”

“Yes, well I think you’ve learned that from my mother. She has the same habit of looking strangely unruffled during even the most rigorous of times.”

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had escaped long Azkaban sentences, thanks to their willingness to let Pansy and Neville kill Nagini. They were on very strict house arrest orders after their six month stint in prison for the next five years, but Hermione and Draco made sure to pop by every now and again. They took up residence at the small cottage Draco and Hermione had met at that very first time. It was small, but Malfoy manor had burnt down and they were ordered to stay in England. There weren’t many other options. 

Narcissa had a way with interior design. About eight months after the Final Battle, Draco had said he was ready to face his parents and Hermione had joined him. She was surprised to find the cottage had a homey feel. She didn’t like to stay long, as the memories of Theo’s transformation and the time Draco had attempted to die for her lingered too close to the surface, but Narcissa had done her best to cover up the dark memories. 

Hermione was quite fond of the Malfoy’s actually, in an odd way. They were still haughty and annoying, but Lucius was excellent when it came to banter, even better than Draco, and she liked to be kept on her toes. Narcissa was an excellent conversationalist, and despite being isolated always had the best gossip. If anyone had asked Hermione during the war where gossip would fall in her list of priorities, she probably would have punched them in the face. She found though, as she tried to find the balance between normalcy and accepting her past for what it was, that it was fun to listen as Narcissa droned on about whose husband is writing whose wife love letters in Azkaban. It was stupid and meaningless. Hermione was so glad to have that back in her life.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Draco.” Hermione fluffed her hair and walked to the floo. “My hair is naturally like this.”

Draco scoffed, and before she could throw him a dirty glance he had tossed the powder in and they were being transported to Grimmauld.

The rooms were stuffed with guests from every which way. There was little press, but with  _ two  _ weddings happening for four war heroes, the guest list was quite vast. 

The living room on the first floor, where the majority of Hermione’s happiest memories lay within the house, was enlarged to house more than three hundred people. The middle aisle had a large strip of silk that led to the front window, where it branched off into opposite directions. Flowers showered the walls, raining down from the ceiling and disappearing before they hit the ground. Lilies and roses garnished each and every entryway and stairwell.

Not long after they arrived, the guests were asked to take their seats. Draco and Hermione popped back to their assigned rooms to check on the brides and grooms.

“No, no. That’s not right at all.” Pansy fussed with Luna’s bustle while Ginny sat with her legs thrown over the arm of a chair with a beer in her hand.

Luna looked hauntingly beautiful with a floor length gown that was cinched at the waist and accented her hips wonderfully. The back of the dress was decorated artfully with lace and her long sleeves sparkled with enchanted diamonds. 

Ginny had opted for a shorter dress that served to emphasise her toned thighs. Her dress was champagne pink and backless, showing off her muscles that she had gained while training for professional Quidditch. The Holy Head Harpies were hoping to make their debut within the next three months and Ginny had embraced the sporty look. In her dress, she looked magnificent, regal and sexy.

Hermione snatched the beer out of Ginny’s hands. “How many have you had?”

Ginny stood and tried to reach for it. Hermione held it above her head. 

“That’s my first, I swear! I just wanted something to do with my hands.”

Ginny  _ hated  _ the idea of a large grand wedding. She would have preferred to elope with Harry, but at the protest of Molly she had agreed to it, only if Theo were joining her.

“You love being the center of attention,” Pansy said, rushing over to fix Ginny’s slightly mussed hair. “This is just like being on the quidditch pitch.”

“As if! I have to stand and be a pretty doll.”

“Only for the ceremony. On the dancefloor you can drink as much as you’d like and be as crazy and unladylike as you normally are.”

Ginny pursed her lips in thought. Eventually she nodded. “Alright, fine.”

There was a knock at the door. Ron peeked his head in. “Ladies, time for places.” His eyes fell on Ginny. “I should have known you’d find a wedding dress to suit your style. I guess I owe Zabini five galleons”

Ginny threw a pillow at the door, but Ron had already shut it with a chuckle.

“Fucking ass!”

“Ginny,” Hermione soothed, running a hand down her back, “You’re marrying Harry today.”

Ginny’s spine straightened and the tension left her shoulders. “If I’m marrying Harry, then I can conquer anything.

\---

The ceremony was beautiful, and Hermione stood arm in arm with Draco along with the rest of the large bridal party, in the center of the room while the couples stood on either side of them. They took turns exchanging their vows, with Harry’s eyes twinkling and Theo needing to clear his throat much more than usual. Theo’s hands and face were littered with tiny scars from his transformations, and while he normally glamoured them when out, today he stood by Luna, looking sickeningly in love and wholly himself. 

Theo embraced being a werewolf. He had been able to save over half of his original pack from Voldemort’s clutches, and when the Final Battle was over, he had come back and challenged the Alpha. Today he stood as leader of the largest pack in Britain, and growing. He wore his scars proud and was tired of hiding them from the media. They would have a frenzy over this, of course, as Theo’s werewolf identity still remained secret knowledge even though it was wildly speculated. But Theo didn’t care, he couldn’t if the look on his face was anything to go by. 

After the ceremony had concluded, festivities moved to the roof, which had once again been enlarged to house all the guests. Ginny stood in the middle performing wild dance moves around Theo while Harry watched on fondly from the side. Luna was chatting with some people with cameras, and by the looks on their faces the conversation was not what they were expecting. 

“Bet she’s talking about wrackspurts and nargles,” Pansy said, taking a sip from her champagne glass. “It’s her go to.”

“That’s too easy. It’s got to be about the efficacy of parsley against malevolent banshees,” Neville said.

Seamus shook his head. “She’s already written an article on that and published it in the Quibbler. Surely they’ve managed to drag werewolves into the conversation by now.”

Hermione shrugged. “Luna loves to talk about werewolves, but she’ll never drag Theo’s identity into it.”

“It’s their mistake in trying to catch her into it,” Draco said, throwing his arm around Hermione. 

The roof was dazzling with its cover of stringed bulb lights that still allowed starlight to shine through. The moon was a mere sliver, at Theo’s request so his pack would be able to join in later on in the night. They preferred to come late so the festivities would continue on for hours more. Hermione didn’t mind. She was in awe watching as painful met wonderful in a strange collision at Grimmauld Place as she watched Harry kiss Ginny’s forehead not far from the place Katie Bell had died a few years prior. 

Theo and Luna danced gracefully directly through where they used to practice their spells, learning to aim contusion hexes for the heart or the brain, getting told these were the most efficient spots. 

They weren’t good memories, but they took up space on Hermione’s head and she was fond of them nonetheless. She remembered Ginny’s celebration as she finally learned to fire at a man’s chest while looking in the other direction. She recalled laughing when Neville slipped on some loose water that had spilled out of an attack dummy when they were perfecting a drowning spell. It was a silly memory wrapped up in an awful circumstance and she was tired of feeling bad for remembering it happily. 

Draco slammed down a shot glass in front of her. She looked up to see everyone else had one in their hand already. 

“Your brain’s working too hard tonight. Let’s have some fun, yeah?”

He was right, and his eyes were filled with so much love that she couldn’t see their haunted past anymore. So she lifted her glass in cheers and downed it before dragging the group to the dance floor. 

Hermione threw her hands in the air and shimmied her hips along with the beat, laughing as Seamus and Dean broke into a dance battle and dropping her jaw when George dropped to the floor and did the worm. She danced with Draco, Pansy, Neville, Theo, Ron, Harry, Fred, Ginny and Luna so many times she lost count. Blaise and Seamus and Dean pulled her into their little own group at one point before they all joined back together again. 

She danced until she was sweating and then she danced some more. They lights sparkled behind her eyes in a kaleidoscope of colors that she no longer wanted to flinch away from. Her legs ached and she continued to move, kissing Draco longer and longer as the night went on. 

When the sun began to breach the horizon they were still going. Hermione’s cheeks hurt from smiling and her lungs ached from laughter. Her heart was so full it overflowed into Draco’s bond and he took it all in, enhanced it and sent it back. 

Hermione knew at one point she thought she’d never recover, that she’d be a war torn girl forever with no one to love and nothing to look forward to.

She knew it, but surrounded by the man she loved and the people she depended on, she could no longer remember the feeling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, you guys. I'm sure I'll write one shots for this eventually, but for now... I can't believe it. I'm literally shocked. All I can say is if you liked this, please recommend it to others. The only reason I was able to get chapters out so fast was because of all your positive support. I thrive off it and I'd like for other people to be able to see it.  
> Please keep commenting and come join me on tumblr. I will answer any asks or questions about this universe.  
> There are a ton of things that weren't addressed in this story because I am an amateur writer. But I'm happy with what I came up with and I'm also willing to write one-shots of anything you request based of this universe or just straight up answer any speculations.  
> Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on tumblr, @hiccupfound


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